


The Point of Life

by NovelistAngel23



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Depression, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, this is gonna be a long ride boys buckle up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-01-20 16:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21284678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovelistAngel23/pseuds/NovelistAngel23
Summary: When Christophe Gaspard agreed to attend the Officer's Academy, he didn't expect it to be so hard. With the recent loss of his mother and the pressure of being a new big brother hanging over his head, he finds it impossible to connect with any of his classmates--that is until the bright-eyed Holst Goneril shoves his way into his life.Holst Goneril came to the Officer's Academy determined to be the best Golden Deer house leader Garreg Mach has ever seen. He doesn't know the meaning of failure, and with the future of House Goneril heavy on his shoulders, he can't afford to find out. He lives in terror of disappointing his loved ones--but no matter how badly he messes up, the beautiful Christophe Gaspard never seems to mind.In Imperial year 1172, an unlikely romance begins within the walls of Garreg Mach Monastery.
Relationships: Christophe Gaspard & Catherine, Christophe Gaspard/Holst Goneril
Comments: 87
Kudos: 98





	1. The Goneril Heir

Christophe Gaspard wasn’t usually a pessimist. In fact, he rather liked to think of himself as an optimist. But staring up at the walls of Garreg Mach Monastery, looming over him like some heavy oppressive beast…

“If I go home before classes start, maybe Father won’t scold me too harshly,” he muttered to himself.

In return, Cassandra slapped a heavy hand down on his shoulder. Her laugh was always so raucous, and it made people turn their heads to the two of them as they passed. Chris hunkered down deeper into the collar of his jacket. “If you turn back now,” Cassie said, “Your dad is going to murder you, and then he’s gonna murder me.”

Chris sighed deeply. He knew she was right. He glanced over at her, tall and broad already, at the ripe young age of 19, three years his senior. Her bright blue eyes were squinted teasingly at him. “Don’t tell me you’re chickening out, Chrissy,” she sang.

Christophe huffed and rolled his eyes. He straightened his back, pushed his chest forward, and shrugged off her heavy hand. He’d told his father he’d be fine with Cassie, that he could handle a year at the Officer’s Academy. Besides… he knew his new siblings would be looking forward to hearing about his time there…

He sighed deeply and hunched his shoulders again. “Let’s just… get this over with.”

As they passed through the gates, he adjusted his grip on the luggage he’d brought--extra clothes, books, school supplies, a tin of Ashe’s cookies (hard as cardboard, the poor thing still hadn’t gotten used to cooking with real butter). Even just feeling it in his hand brought him some comfort as he and Cassandra made their way through the bustling marketplace. A guard greeted them at the entrance hall, shouting, “Greetings! You two must be new students!”

“Greetings!” Cassandra replied, meeting the excited man’s grin tit for tat. “I’m Cassandra Rubens Charon, and this here is Christophe Gaspard.”

The gatekeeper smiled at Chris, who offered him a sheepish wave as Cassie threw her arm around his shoulders. “Oh! Charon, Gaspard--you two are from Faerghus then?” the man said. He pointed behind him. “You’ll be meeting in the Blue Lions classroom--exciting stuff!”

Christophe barely listened as the man gave them directions, reaching up to run his hand over the lump underneath his shirt. A hard little charm, resting against his sternum, an old gift. Though he couldn’t feel its cool, polished surface, the reminder that it was there brought him some peace before Cassandra said, “Thank you!” and dragged Christophe after her again.

“So, I guess we’ve gotta meet our professor first,” Cassandra said. “Then we choose our house leader and get to find our dorm rooms. Man, I hope we’re neighbors!”

Christophe refrained from rolling his eyes. Though Cassandra seemed content to play ignorant, he knew better. He was a minor noble, if a noble at all, and there was no way Cassie--a noble with an elusive _ major _ crest--would be allowed to room near him. Out of the question.

But Chris had gotten good at distracting himself when his thoughts swayed in that direction. He instead looked at the monastery as they paraded through its hallowed halls. The walls that rose so high above them, like the sky, chandeliers like the stars. He'd never been much for architecture, but even he could get lost turning underneath the ornate ceiling, imagining it was crafted by the Goddess herself.

That wasn’t the only distraction to be found in the monastery. All around them, students milled about in their fine golds and blacks, loud and excited for the school year to come. It was easy to tell who came from where. Alliance students with their shirts unbuttoned, baring their shoulders, used to the heat. Faerghan students like him and Cassie, immaculately dressed, hiding their skin like it was an order from King Lambert himself. And Adrestian students, with red sashes around their wrists and arms and in their hair. Patriotic till the end.

Even the classrooms, when Cassie pulled him to the courtyard, reflected their students perfectly. The Golden Deer house, with banners of--naturally--gold, students laughing as they ran about the spacious classroom. The Black Eagles with their red Adrestian banners, students standing straight and stoic as the house leader who greeted newcomers in front of the classroom. And...

An older woman with hair pulled into a tight bun sang out, "Oh, hello there!" as Cassandra and Christophe neared the Blue Lions classroom, blue banners waving in the wind.

The woman wasn't too tall, but her heels were high enough to make her tower even over Cassie. She stroked a lock of strategically loose light brown hair behind her ear. "My, my, aren't you two just lovely. You must be my missing students!" She held out her hand to be shaken. Cassandra took it before Christophe could recoil. He hated, _ hated _ shaking hands. "I'm Professor Manuela, I'll be teaching your class this year!"

Cassie grinned in response, not so subtly checking her out. Chris would have laughed if he weren't too nervous hoping Professor Manuela wouldn't insist he shake her hand too. He supposed she was Cassie's type--a well-endowed woman who could undoubtedly step on her. Cassie was nothing if not predictable.

"W-well," Cassandra said, taking her arm from around Chris's neck. "I'm Cassandra Rubens Charon. And boy, am I excited to be in your room--class. Classroom."

Chris rolled his eyes, looking away from the wreckage of her attempts to flirt. He looked out across the courtyard instead, surveying the students again. He didn't recognize anyone, but that didn't surprise him. After… well… he hadn't gotten out of the house much in the past few years.

But still it was fun to people watch. Girls who seemed to have known each other for decades danced and screamed as they saw each other, old friends reunited from across Fodlan. There were already some lovers about, cuddling against each other and--_ eugh _\--holding hands as they crossed the courtyard together.

Christophe glanced at the Golden Deer classroom as another student stepped out, this one a boy in a golden cape. That must have been the Golden Deer's house leader. The Adrestian one wore a red cape just the same.

Chris studied the boy curiously. He seemed the type to be voted house leader. He was tall, with muscular arms bared by his rolled up sleeves. The only thing that seemed off was his bright pink hair, the bangs cut so choppily that Christophe was sure he’d done the job himself. It gave him a rakish air that Christophe found himself curiously drawn to.

The boy looked over his shoulder, and their eyes might have met if Cassie hadn't grabbed Chris and dragged him into the classroom behind her. "Holy shit," she breathed, "Our Professor is _ hot _."

Chris smiled despite himself. "If you say so."

* * *

Chris stared up at the ceiling, playing with the charm of his necklace, breathing slowly in and out. School had been… so long. It wasn't as if they'd done much of anything. Introductions mostly, long introductions. So many faces and people and _ hands _to shake. He was just grateful Cassie had stayed by his side and shaken them for him.

Chris curled up in his tiny bed and looked at the wall instead. He hadn't always been this way. He used to like meeting new people. He wrapped his fist around the necklace, feeling the ridges of the carving against his palm. A simple portrait of his mother, a reminder of her face.

He could almost see it when he closed his eyes. He remembered… her gentle smile. Her long curly blonde hair, just the same texture as his own, if not softer. She had deep, deep brown eyes, knowing eyes… and her hands…

Chris opened his eyes before he could fall asleep into that familiar nightmare. It seemed it didn't matter how hard he tried to avoid it, he always remembered his mother's limp, cold hand cupped around his own.

It filled him with a panicked sense of dread. He swallowed hard and sat up, digging through his night table for a piece of parchment. The plague that claimed his mother had been miraculously cured years ago, but he still… he still worried. For his father, of course, but now for the three children his father had adopted too.

He feverishly penned a letter by the light of the moon.

_ Dearest Father, _

_ I fear I forgot to remind you to be careful. Make sure to wash the children thoroughly each night, and don't allow Angela to sneak out of the castle. She always goes to the village children, and who knows what diseases they may breed. I know Ashe is a good chef, but he's still a child, so please ensure the meat is cooked through! _

He stopped there and swallowed hard. Then he decidedly crumpled the note between his palms. He knew his father well enough to know he'd simply laugh and ignore it. Why wasn't he so afraid? He always said, _ By the grace of the Goddess, I know our family will thrive. _ As if the Goddess even knew they existed, as if she sat upon her star and watched them with any sense of obligation.

Christophe set his quill aside and laid back on the bed again. Cassandra's room was upstairs, with the true nobility, like that Gautier man they’d voted house leader. He'd known it would be so, but he couldn't help wishing they were neighbors. He longed to sneak into her room and lay beside her and talk for hours. Though their lands were far apart, his mother had Charon's blood in her veins too, though not his crest. Technically they were cousins, and to that end they'd visited each other so often over the years… he'd gotten used to sleep overs and late night conversations. How ironic that now they were closer than ever, and yet further apart?

Chris tried to turn his mind to something else. He imagined what dish his new brother, Ashe, might be cooking that night. He was always so eager to try something new. It warmed Chris's heart. His father had insisted they had servants to do that work until Ashe's pretty babydoll eyes filled with tears, and he caved like a wet pile of sand.

Chris sat up again and crawled out of bed. One thing Ashe liked more than anything was new stories to listen to. Chris decided that if he couldn't sleep, he'd just have to read. Maybe in the library he could find a story Ashe hadn't heard before.

* * *

The library wasn't as beautiful as the one at home, open with huge windows to let in the soft moonlight. Instead, it was cold and small, and Chris felt out of place.

He didn't really know what to look for. Ashe liked fairy tales, but most of the books in the library were textbooks or the rare epic. Too long to memorize for a bedtime story.

Even so, Chris dug through them, hoping to find something worthwhile. His hands shook on the covers. Why was he even trying? He wouldn't see his siblings for a year or so anyway and… it wasn't as if he were much of a brother anyway.

He didn't know how to… talk to them. Alistair, the youngest, just stared at him with these empty blue eyes. Chris wasn't even sure he knew how to speak yet. And Angela could be so mean, no filter on her tiny mouth. And Ashe… Ashe…

He seemed to expect so much out of Chris. From that first moment they met, screaming and wriggling in his arms, begging to be set free after being caught stealing--to the last they'd seen each other, hugging him tight and asking him to stay. He always looked at him with those wide, pleading green eyes, and Chris wanted to give him the whole world, no matter how empty his open hands were.

A sound interrupted his thoughts, something breathy and joyful. He hugged his book close to his chest and glanced upstairs at the direction of the sound. He'd sworn the library was empty when he came in… had something been hiding away?

He heard the sound again, something more akin to a giggle, and tentatively, he moved towards it. Ashe cowered at the slightest surprise, claiming it was a ghost, but Christophe had never been so superstitious. Even so, he kept his lips clamped shut as he approached.

Up the stairs, past a bookshelf filled with cookbooks... He heard the sound again, and realized with a grimace that it sounded like… like a moan?

He caught a flash of movement through the bookshelf, and keeping quiet, he peeked through himself.

Stars…

He recognized that golden cape and the bright pink hair. The Golden Deer's house leader. Chris huddled behind the shelf as he watched, realizing the boy was with a girl. The two were locked in a sensual kiss that made Christophe frown. Seriously? In the _ library _? On the first day of classes too!

The girl moaned again as her lover kissed down her throat. Christophe gritted his teeth and stepped away, scurrying back downstairs. His search for a book could wait until the next night, he supposed. Let them have their fun if they must.

* * *

But it seemed that every time Christophe visited the library, no matter the time of day, he could find the Golden Deer’s house leader locked in an embrace with any pretty girl or handsome young man he could find. They were different each day, and by the end of the first week of classes, Chris found he was quite sick of it.

“Do you know the Golden Deer’s house leader?” Christophe asked Cassie one day, kicking his bare feet in the water of the fishing pond as Cassandra cast her line.

She hummed thoughtfully, leaning her chin in her fist as she watched her lure bob with the ripples of the pond. “The pink-haired guy?” She pursed her lips.

Christophe studied her profile, her cropped blonde hair and wide blue eyes. She didn’t look much like his mother, save for their similar hair color and skin tone. Cassie’s eyes glowed with her crest, so bright they were blinding to look into head on. His mother’s eyes had never been like that. Even so, he occasionally found himself reminded of her when he looked at Cassandra.

“Goneril,” Cassandra said, drawing Chris’s attention back to the discussion at hand. “Yeah, that’s it. They’ve all got the pink hair thing.” She looked at him, a familiar curious and teasing expression on her face. Her smug little smile made Christophe grimace. “What makes you so curious, Chrissy?”

Chris rolled his eyes, leaning over to look into the pond instead of at her. “Well, if you must know, he’s made the library his own personal love nest, and it’s difficult to find a good book with…” He shuddered. “_ That _ going on.”

Cassandra laughed her loud, raucous laugh, and Christophe deflated at the sound. Of course she wouldn’t take his complaints seriously. She was probably as insatiable as the Goneril boy, without the audacity to show it off in public.

She clapped her hand hard on his back, nearly knocking him into the pond, and said, “Are you sure you’re talking about the right Goneril?”

Chris squinted over at her. “What? How many house leaders with pink hair attend this school?”

Cassie shook her head, an air of disbelief to her furrowed brows and wide smile. “All I’ve ever heard about him is that he’s a stand up guy. You know, he’s got a crest, he’s gonna become Duke Goneril someday--maybe even the next leader of the Alliance.”

Chris felt the disbelief too, but he only raised his eyebrow at her in question. “The next leader of the Alliance? Oh I’m quite sure. How many heirs do you think he’ll be raising at this rate?”

Cassandra laughed, slapping her knee. “Goddess! You really think it’s the same guy?”

Christophe shrugged, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the sky. It was heavy now, the clouds turning gray. It made him want to go inside, to curl up with a book, listen to the crackle of the fireplace. He’d grown used to the loneliness of it, embraced it even. But ever since adopting the little ones, when it rained hard enough, he’d find himself sharing his favorite armchair with three little children, reading aloud a book of fairytales.

He felt lonely again at the thought of going back to his tiny dorm and holding his necklace to his chest instead.

“I don’t know,” Christophe whispered. “Maybe.”

Rain started to plop down around them just as Cassie got a bite on her line. Christophe cackled as she struggled to reel it in while the rain poured down around them harder. “Cassie, let it go!” he laughed, grabbing her shoulders to help her yank the fish in.

But Cassandra Rubens Charon was not well known for her restraint.

* * *

Christophe hid a sneeze in his elbow, searching through the books in the library. It was quiet for once, no breathless giggles and ecstatic moans to interrupt his perusal. He thumbed through the choices, grimacing at all the boring historical texts. Was it so bad to wish for one with a little more… adventure?

Then, as if some higher power guided his hand, he found a familiar title that made him smile. _ Loog and the Maiden of Wind _, scrolled out in elegant golden text. Christophe traced his finger delicately down the spine, humming at the indents against his fingertips as he remembered the first time he ever met his brother Ashe.

A cold stormy day, with lightning crashing near the windows of the drafty castle. He remembered hearing his father shouting for him to come quickly, remembered running through the halls to the library. Skidding through the doors to find his father wrestling with a feral child, holding their copy of _ Loog and the Maiden of Wind _ high over his head.

A sound of books hitting the shelf on the other side of the room yanked Christophe out of his reverie. He glanced over, and his eyes widened at the sight of the Goneril heir shoving a pile of books deep into a random shelf. Christophe couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Those almost certainly did not go there.

He took his book from its place on the shelf and walked past the Goneril boy, sparing him a single glance. When they were this close, he was actually… surprisingly handsome. Though his hair was cut messily, it had a debonair flair to it, pulled back into a short ponytail at the base of his skull. Like a handsome bandit from one of Christophe’s fairytales. His face was heart-shaped and sweet, belying the heat of the rakish smirk on his mouth, his sharp canines glinting against his soft full lips. And his eyes… they were as pink as his hair, glowing bright with his crest, almost… mesmerizing…

Christophe felt his face burning with a blush. Oh stars, don’t tell him he found this foolish boy _ attractive _. Not someone so… so… improper!

Christophe quickly glanced away, trying to recall his disgust at the Goneril heir’s numerous rendezvous. No, no, no. Absolutely not. He was not going to be another notch in some promiscuous heir’s belt.

He took a seat at a table as far away from him as possible, settling down to read his book instead. It had been a long day, and he still felt a little sick from the downpour Cassandra had gotten him stuck in. He just wanted to read and take a breather.

But then a hand slapped down on the table in front of him. He looked up--and up and up--to find the Goneril heir leaning over him, an easy smirk on his beautiful face. “Um…” Chris whispered, furrowing his brow. “Can I help you?”


	2. The Beautiful Christophe Gaspard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holst Goneril is nothing if not persistent.

To Holst Goneril, Garreg Mach’s library wasn’t good for much other than making out. When he had someone to distract him, he only thought of it as a secret little hideaway, perfect for a couple minutes of privacy.

But when he was alone, the library gave him the creeps. How could anyone want to spend their free time in this dump? It was so quiet and dark and dusty. Way up above his head, there were books so old and out of the way that they were covered in cobwebs. The wooden floorboards creaked under his feet. Ugh, he was starting to wonder if he really should have offered to put away books for that girl in his class.

He sighed deeply and shoved the books into a random shelf. He hated that creepy old librarian anyway, no way he was going to go looking for him. He leaned back, hands on his hips, studying his handiwork. Yeah, that was good enough. If Tomas didn’t mark them as returned, that was on him.

Holst stared at the books, trying not to think too hard about it. He knew they didn’t go there… He knew that girl expected him to turn them in right. What would she think if he fucked up? He was moments away from picking them up and trying again, glancing around the library for any sign of the librarian--but he froze.

Only a few bookcases away from him stood the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen in his life.

It was like the spark of a flame, the moment Holst laid eyes on him. He was glad he’d set the books down already, because if he hadn’t, he would have dropped them.

The boy stood before a bookcase, running his fingertips gently down the spines of dusty old novels, reading the titles to himself. He had blonde curly hair, deep dark blue eyes that seemed so, so sad. Long fingers, perfectly manicured nails. His high cheekbones made him look almost like a prince.

Holst knew he was staring, but he couldn’t stop. The boy smiled softly and chose a book, cradling it to his chest as if it were precious before heading in Holst's direction. Holst sucked in a sharp breath, catching the scent of sweet flowers on the air as he neared. The boy merely glanced at him when he passed, and Holst saw his long lashes, his lips bitten and chapped.

The boy offered a strained but polite smile, and Holst didn’t miss the sweet blush that colored the apples of his cheeks. He smirked at the sight. Oh yeah, he didn’t even need to say anything to get a reaction. At the sight of his smirk though, the boy looked away and practically scurried the opposite direction of Holst, taking a seat at a table across the room.

Holst looked back at the books he’d left behind and then followed the boy like a man possessed. He could put them back correctly later.

The boy sat so elegantly, ankles crossed underneath his seat as he leaned over his book. Holst caught a glance at the cover--some romantic little adventure novel it seemed--before the boy opened it, his fingers easily turning the pages. Holst walked up and slapped his hand down on the table in front of the book, smiling down at the boy.

It took him a second to react. He paused in flipping the pages and slowly tilted his head back, blinking up at Holst. “Um… can I help you?” he asked, and Goddess, even his voice sounded nice. Soft, quiet, but elegant somehow. His voice sounded like cursive.

Holst flashed him a trademark grin. _ Lay it on thick _ , he told himself. _ The shy ones _ love _ it thick. _

He held his hand out. “You seemed lonely, so I thought I’d introduce myself.”

The boy flinched at his hand, and Holst curled his fingers back to himself. Okay, handshakes were a no. That was fine. He liked a unique greeting himself. As he pulled his hand back, the boy squinted up at Holst.

“W-well, it’s lovely to meet you, Mr.…” the boy said, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

Holst’s grin turned into a smirk. “I’m Holst,” he introduced, and put his elbow on the table and leaned in close. “And you’re gorgeous.”

He waited for the usual giggle, the blush, the surprise of being flirted with for the first time--but that didn’t happen.

Instead the boy rolled his pretty blue eyes. “Wow, how many hearts has that line won you?” he asked, leaning back from Holst’s face with a grimace.

Holst’s smile faltered. “Uh--”

The boy picked up his book again, not even meeting his eyes. “If you don’t mind, I’m busy--”

“Wait, wait!”

The boy had lifted the book to block Holst's gaze, but he still had room to look at him over the cover. “Yes?”

Holst smiled awkwardly, feeling a blush burning on the tips of his ears. “Come on, you think I’m gonna let you sit in this creepy library all alone?”

The boy rolled his eyes again, shutting the book with a snap. “Well, this has been a fascinating attempt to get in my pants, but I’m afraid I’m not interested.”

Holst spluttered as the boy rose from his chair, and he stood up straight as well. “Wh-who says--”

The boy took a step closer to him, and Holst’s eyes went wide as he leaned up close, squinting suspiciously. He was an inch or two shorter than Holst, but he got right up in his face with no hesitation. “Oh, don’t think I haven’t noticed you galavanting around the library with all of your many, _ many _lovers,” the boy said, and Holst’s blush spread to his face too.

The boy almost seemed surprised by the expression, and he leaned back with a soft smile that just _ did _ something for Holst. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but he felt it in his gut. “I always see you with someone new, but I didn’t expect you’d hit on _ me _of all people. Well… My apologies, Holst, but…” He shrugged. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Holst watched helplessly as the boy turned towards the entrance. His stomach was doing flips, his heart was in his throat. No, no way it was ending like that. He called, “I never got your--”

“It’s Christophe,” the boy said, glancing back over his shoulder and Holst was taken aback by the way he looked, holding his book to his chest still. Those long lashes; soft, shiny hair; star-like smile. He looked like he’d stepped out of some kind of painting, a prince or knight or something otherworldly and beautiful. A child of Sothis. “Christophe Gaspard. Perhaps I’ll see you around.”

With that, he walked away, and Holst was left to marvel at the pounding in his chest, his clammy palms. He wondered if he imagined the sway in the boy’s--in _ Christophe’s _\--hips as he disappeared around the corner. No one had ever shaken him like this before. Was this that “love at first sight” thing his little sister Hilda always giggled about?

“Goddess,” he breathed, barely able to get anything else out. “I’m gonna marry him.”

He suddenly heard light applause behind him and whipped around to see Tomas smiling at him, clapping. “Quite a declaration, young man, I'm rooting for you!”

Holst’s whole face turned red. “Late books,” he muttered, gesturing to the pile he’d left behind.

While Tomas was distracted, he booked it out of the library, hoping he might catch up to the beauty that was Christophe Gaspard, but he was already long gone. Holst skidded to a stop in the center of the hall, looking this way and that, but there was a smile on his face, even as he gave up hope of finding out where his mysterious classmate disappeared to.

He leaned against a wall to catch his breath, his smile turning into a grin. That was fine. That just gave him more time to figure out a pickup line that Christophe Gaspard couldn’t say no to.

* * *

“What about…” Holst panted, dodging under the swing of his classmate’s lance. “Oh, I got it! I’ll compare him to the Goddess!”

“Holst, no!” another of his classmates protested.

He didn’t glance at her, too focused on the bob and weave of battle, on the exhaustion in his opponent’s face. He was pretty sure the girl who spoke was that commoner, Myra Something--Miley Something? She was a bit of a Goddess freak. No wonder she didn’t like that idea.

“Okay, okay!” Holst laughed, his mind clear despite the sweat dripping down his temples and the throb in his muscles.

If not the Goddess, then what else could he possibly compare to the beauty that was Christophe Gaspard? He was otherworldly, holy like the stars. Could anything earthly hold a candle to his shining hair, sparkling eyes? Could anything smell as sweet?

“Ah!” Holst gasped, spinning out of reach of the lance. “Flowers!”

He skirted back from a stab, dangerously close to his stomach, and a feral grin spread across his face. Finally a bit of challenge! The dirt of the tournament grounds permeated the air, kicked up from their sparring, but Holst easily kept sight of his opponent. He was small, some poor kid from a minor noble house, but he was determined. One day he’d become a knight--Holst remembered the adamance in his voice when he said that, though he couldn’t recall his name.

Well, unfortunately, his footwork still needed a bit of polishing.

“Too generic,” someone muttered as Holst sidestepped a slash.

He used his momentum to slide into a roundhouse kick, aimed at his opponent’s knees. His heel slammed hard into the back of the kid’s knee, and the poor thing buckled immediately, falling face first into the dirt. A chorus of “oohs” and sympathetic hisses of pain started around them as Holst knelt before him and held out a hand.

“Good fight,” he commended as the kid looked up at him with a pout. “You almost got me.”

The kid’s face was red with either shame or scratches, but nonetheless he reached up and took Holst’s hand. “I can’t believe it,” he gasped as Holst hauled him to his feet. “You’re not even armed!”

Holst turned to face the rest of the class as the kid went back to sit among them. The Golden Deer’s class was smaller than usual and smaller than the Black Eagles or Blue Lions, but Holst didn’t mind. He’d made it a rule from the moment he was voted in as house leader: Sundays were dedicated to group training. They filled the tournament grounds, some sitting and watching Holst fight, others holding conversation, others actually taking the time to train. The kid Holst had thrown to the dirt collapsed next to a group of other students who were just as bruised and breathless from challenging their beloved house leader.

It made Holst beam with pride. He’d told his parents he’d become house leader, and that he’d be the best house leader Garreg Mach had ever seen. He’d promised his darling little sister Hilda that everyone would know her big brother’s name by the time he left school.

This was only the start.

Holst wiped sweat from his brow, thinking hard on his next suggestion. Sure, it was nice to have a group brainstorm session on how best to woo his latest crush, but this was really a mock strategy meeting. The whole class needed to learn their opinions were valued. And how better to teach than with some harmless flirting?

“All right,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve got a new idea. How about--”

“How about you try actually getting to know him?” someone muttered from behind him.

Holst turned to the voice even though he already recognized it. There he stood, arms crossed and eyes settled into an unimpressed glare. Byron Something-or-Other, the only student who’d refused to vote him in as house leader. He was Holst’s “problem child.”

Byron was short as his temper, with dark hair and murderous eyes. Holst forced his smile not to tremble with annoyance. He’d expected a few tough cookies, but Byron was in a league all his own. “Great idea,” Holst said, putting his hands on his hips and glancing back to the rest of the class, now watching with undivided attention. He smirked at Byron. “Care to elaborate for the class?”

Byron rolled his eyes. “I’m not interested in helping you get your dick wet.”

A couple of students snickered, but Holst ignored them, refusing to falter in the face of Byron’s vitriol, letting it wash down his back like water. “Okay, that’s fine, not interested in strategy practice,” he said, raising his hands in mock apology. “Then why don’t you get up here and fight me?”

Behind Holst, the class gasped at his challenge. He didn’t smile any wider, didn’t let it bleed into a smirk. Everyone knew the scrawny kid was more of a shit talker than a fighter, but even so, Holst wasn’t going to get cocky. He locked eyes with Byron, bracing himself for a sudden attack.

But then Byron rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you do something actually productive for once?” he muttered, crossing his arms.

Holst couldn’t hold back the smirk then, and lifted one hand to count off his fingers. “Actually productive? Well, I’ve already finished all of my classwork, studied for three hours, met with my professors, helped Miley--”

“Myra!”

“Sorry--helped _ Myra _with her formations assignment, wrote a letter to my dearest, darlingest baby sister, finished cooking duty, helped with garden duty--”

“We get it!” someone laughed as Byron turned red with humiliation and stormed away.

Holst laughed too, a big hearty one that infected the rest of the class until the air was filled with it. He decided it was best to end training there, before the sun set and left them fighting in the dark. As everyone left, Holst stood by the doors, making sure to commend everyone for their hard work, remind them of upcoming lectures, offer help if they needed it.

The last girl to leave--tall but nervous--turned to face him before he could pat her back. She wrung her hands, looking at her feet. She was at least a few inches taller than him, but the way she hunched her shoulders made her seem like a mouse. “Um…” she murmured, looking anywhere but at him.

Holst just smiled brightly up at her. “What’s going on, beautiful?” he asked. “Need help with something?”

The girl blushed to her ears and shook her head. “I-I… How…” She sighed deeply and then met his eyes. “How are you so perfect all the time?” she asked, a desperate whine to her voice.

Holst blanked. He blinked at her slowly, the sound of her voice muting as she continued. How was he so perfect? Well, what else was he supposed to be?

“Holst?”

Holst realized he’d been staring and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, uh… I guess I just… Well, you have to put your all into it. You’re at the Officer’s Academy, right?” She nodded hesitantly. “Then take advantage! You have all these resources at your disposal. Imagine how disappointed everyone will be if you don’t succeed.”

Her face fell at that, eyes wide with horror, and Holst’s heart hammered into his ribcage. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _ fuck _, he’d fucked up, he’d said something wrong, he’d upset her--

“I guess you’re right,” she sighed. “If I don’t try my hardest, I’ll let everyone back home down…” She smiled, and Holst practically deflated with relief, his heart still pounding in his chest. “Thank you so much, Holst!”

With that, she ran off, joining a group of her friends as they all walked back to their dorms. Holst watched her go and the moment she was out of sight, he dropped into a squat, holding his head down between his knees. _ You’re okay, you’re okay, she doesn’t hate you _, he thought desperately, and sat there for a few seconds before popping back up with a smile plastered to his face.

He managed to keep it there just fine until he finally made it back to his dorm. The moment the door shut behind him, he collapsed to his knees, resting heavily back against it and letting his smile fall from his face. His room was--naturally--immaculate, every little thing in its place and hidden from sight. It was comforting in a way. Nothing here to see him breathe, to judge him for letting the smile fall away.

Nothing save for the letter to Hilda he’d left open on his desk. He smiled to himself when he noticed it and got to his feet, taking it in hand. His handwriting left a little to be desired--he'd been studying with calligraphers back home to improve it, but he still had much to learn. Even so, he knew Hilda wouldn't mind. He held it to his chest for a moment before flopping back onto his bed to read his words over.

Hilda always protested his gushing over her, but he couldn’t help it. The school year had only just begun, and he already missed her terribly. There was just something so invigorating about her cute little smile. Every time she finished a new craft and rushed to show him; every time she sighed dramatically and insisted he carry her around like a princess. It made every day brighter.

He didn’t even know how he’d make it through the school year without seeing her once…

He read over his letter again, for the fifth time that day, hoping he’d gotten down every detail he wanted to share with her.

_ Darling Hilda, _

_ How is my favorite girl doing? I hope you haven't been causing our parents too much trouble! _

_ As you've likely guessed, school is a chore without your cute, little face to light up my day. I've made do, but nothing compares-- _

Holst stopped there, setting the letter on his chest and looking up at the ceiling. Compare. Even the word reminded him of Christophe. Why was he thinking about him when he should have been thinking about Hilda?

But he couldn’t get him out of his mind.

He usually wasn't so adamant about one person…He'd slept with someone new every day the first week of classes, a thrill that somehow took the edge off whenever he dared to think there was too much on his plate. Stress about classwork, leading his house, training, Byron Something-or-Other? Sex always cleared his head, if only for an hour or two. It was all about focusing on someone else, instead of his duties.

But Christophe…

He was different. Holst couldn't _ stop _focusing on him.

Holst rolled onto his side, remembering those deep blue eyes, even deeper than the canals of Derdriu where he'd spent many a summer.

He wondered if that line would be enough to sway Christophe's heart, or if he'd get another eyeroll for his efforts. Goddess, maybe he wasn't trying hard enough?

Holst groaned, flopping dramatically onto his back again. Though he was loath to admit it, Byron Something-or-Other was right… He had no idea what would make Christophe swoon or what would annoy him, or even if he might say something that reminded him of a past heartbreak. He really only had one choice. He had to do some research.

* * *

Holst was pretty good at pretty much everything, so wooing his way into the Blue Lions wasn't an issue. The issue was, none of them knew a thing about Christophe Gaspard.

He'd scooted his way into a circle of some of the admittedly prettier girls in the class, enjoying the bright afternoon rays of spring sun through the Dagdan cherry blossoms of the classroom courtyard. Holst adored those pink blossoms and the way they littered the green grass. But he couldn't admire them just yet. He had work to do, listening to the gossip as he laughed with the girls.

"Holst, you're so funny," one giggled, resting her cheek on her knees. "Shouldn't you be with your class right now?"

Holst smiled brightly at her, crossing his legs under him. "You got me! I really should, my love, but there's this boy I've been meaning to get to know. A classmate of yours?"

The girl leaning on his side hummed thoughtfully. "Who? We probably know him!"

"Goddess, if you do, you'd be doing me a favor!" Holst exclaimed, turning his head to look at her. "He's a minor noble I think, blonde, blue eyes. Christophe Gaspard?"

Everyone went silent as they thought. Holst held his breath, but after a moment he decided he probably shouldn't. Every girl had a blank expression on her face, as if they'd never heard the name before in their lives. Was it that hard? Holst couldn't forget him, and he'd only met him for a moment. These girls went to _ class _ with him. Daily!

Suddenly a soft-faced brunette gasped, "Oh!" clapping her hands together. "You mean that weird kid always hanging around Cass!"

Holst only barely managed to catch his grimace before it broke his smile. Weird kid? Just what about him was weird?

He opened his mouth to ask, but he didn’t get the chance. The moment the girl said so, everyone else chimed in. “Oh no, _ him _?” one laughed.

“Goddess, I know right!” said another. “What is up with him?”

“He is so weird!”

“What’s his problem?”

“What _ is _ his problem?” Holst asked, struggling not to seem upset, though it was nearly impossible to keep his voice from wavering.

He didn’t even know why he was upset… He’d only just barely met Christophe. It wasn’t as if they were close, or even acquaintances. If anything, it was probably a fleeting attraction--Holst wasn’t stupid enough to think he was really in love.

But…

He couldn’t stop thinking about those sad blue eyes.

A girl with dark blue hair sitting curled under the cherry blossom tree hid a snicker behind her hand. “I mean, what isn’t? He doesn’t talk to anyone but Cass, and he loses his shit if anyone touches him.”

Holst recalled the way he flinched when offered a hand to shake. The fear in his eyes had been nearly palpable for the brief moment it replaced the sorrow.

“Oh yeah, he is such a clean freak!” another girl scoffed. “I’d rather die than get cleaning duty with him again.”

“Have you ever had choir practice with him?” someone asked. “He just refuses to sing, drives Manuela _ crazy _.”

All around Holst, more and more snickers--more and more insults. Christophe was too quiet, too shy, too strange and lonely and unwanted. It was enough to make Holst’s unfettered exterior crumble. _ Stop! _ He wanted to shout. _ Leave him alone for fuck’s sake! _

But before he could shatter, by the grace of the Goddess, a familiar voice interrupted their little gossip session. “Well, if it isn’t Holst Goneril getting cozy with my class!”

Holst rolled his eyes and then forced a sickly sweet smile, looking up as Miklan Gautier stalked up to his little entourage. Holst was admittedly awful with names, but Miklan had ensured he'd never forget his. It seemed like every time Holst dared to go near a Blue Lions student, Miklan wasn’t far behind to grumble about him “stealing his people.”

Usually Holst rolled his eyes and walked off, but this time Miklan stood in front of him and blocked his exit. He jerked his thumb behind him, staring intently at all the girls. With a chorus of groans and grumbles, they each picked up their stuff and brushed off their ass. Miklan crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at Holst as the others stood up and left around them. The moment they were out of earshot, he said, “They might be stupid, but I'm not. I know your game, Goneril.”

Holst sighed deeply, leaning back on his hands and raising his brows at him. “And what game is that, Mikky?”

Miklan sneered at the nickname, but it wasn’t the first time Holst had used it and they both knew it wouldn’t be the last. Instead of protesting it, he just said, “Don’t play stupid. You know as well as I do that Charon will go anywhere that useless Gaspard kid does.”

Holst gritted his teeth behind his easygoing smile. _ He’s not useless _, he wanted to say, but he held his tongue. Miklan already hated him enough, and he wasn’t about to start any fights. He knew his parents would hate him if he got into a fight at school, no matter how noble his cause.

Instead he leveled Miklan with a stare, barely listening as he continued to rant. “You think you can attack the weakest link, take my only crest away from me and weaken my team.” Miklan took a step closer, a dangerous look in his eyes, fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t fucking think so. Stick your dick in someone else’s class.”

He didn't wait for Holst to respond--or tell him he was unhinged--before turning on a heel and stomping away. Holst was pretty sure he wouldn't have listened anyway. He didn't know much about Faerghan politics, but as the heir of House Goneril, he knew all about crests and the Ten Elites. Gautier was one of those heroes of old, just like Goneril, but Miklan didn't have those telltale glowing eyes. No wonder he was so off his rocker. He had a lot to prove.

Holst sighed deeply and laid back on the grass, looking up through the cherry blossoms. Pink had always been a calming color to him, helped him think when nothing else worked. It reminded him of his Hilda's cute little grin, or his father's long soft hair. It reminded him of the sunset glancing off the ocean, when his family took a trip to the mountains on the edge of their territory.

It helped him think, but all he could think about was quiet, lonely, _ beautiful _Christophe Gaspard. It seemed like the only way he was going to get him out of his mind was by sating his curiosity once and for all, and the only way he was going to learn about him was by going directly to the source.

Or well. The best friend of the source.

* * *

Holst had been avoiding Christophe since their fateful first meeting, determined to make him swoon the next time they met, but therein lied the difficulty. In order to learn more about Christophe, he’d have to get close to the Charon heir, Cassandra, and if he wanted to talk to Cassandra, he’d have to get her alone.

And she was _ always _ with Christophe.

Luckily Holst was nothing if not persistent. It didn’t take too much flirting to squeeze her schedule out of her classmates, piece by piece. Homeroom with Professor Manuela, sword fighting with a teacher whose name he kept forgetting, reason magic (_ ugh _) with Professor Hanneman--all of which she shared with Christophe. All except her last class, brawling with Sir Alois.

Luckily for Holst, it was also the only class he had a reasonable excuse to join.

It was no trouble slipping his way onto the lecture roster. The real challenge was keeping his eyes peeled for any chance to get Cassandra alone.

It was harder than he expected it to be. She was certainly popular, which admittedly wasn’t too much of a shocker. She definitely wasn’t his type--he’d always liked pretty, delicate things--but she cut a dashing figure with her muscular arms and cocky attitude. Her eyes glowed even brighter than his own, the power of an elusive major crest. In those rare moments that she wasn’t with Christophe, she was surrounded by an entourage of adoring fans, each of them vying for a moment of her attention.

It might have made Holst jealous if he weren’t so frustrated. How hard was it to get one person alone for a minute?

“Mr. Goneril!”

Holst jolted and turned to the sound of Sir Alois’s voice. The knight had taken up post at the podium in the front of the classroom, fists on his hips and a grin on his face. He was so excitable about everything. Holst couldn’t help admiring his energy. Even he felt drained sometimes--maybe a lot of the time.

“Yes, Sir?” Holst asked, sitting up straighter, a bright smile on his face.

Sir Alois laughed, waving his hand dismissively. “No, no, no need for such formalities! Call me Alois!"

Holst didn’t break a sweat, though the thought of addressing him so informally made him cringe deep down. He swore he heard his mother’s voice, strident in his ear, _ Respect your elders, young man, there are no excuses for such impropriety. _

But if he ignored his wishes, he’d certainly be—

"Now, why don't you come up here and demonstrate a draining blow for the class?"

Holst felt pride well up in his chest. Sir Alois was pointing him out _ personally _. He was already getting a reputation for excelling in his classes. His parents would be ecstatic.

Holst rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders and pushing his sleeves to his elbows. “I’d be honored.”

“He can demonstrate on me.”

Holst turned to see Cassandra, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, a cocky smirk on her face. Holst felt a matching one spread across his own lips. “If you can handle it.”

Cassandra snorted, and Sir Alois encouraged it, waving both hands for her to stand up. The other students pushed their tables to the sides of the room as Holst and Cassandra took positions at opposite ends of the classroom. Holst braced himself. He hadn’t seen Cassandra in action, but he’d heard the rumors, and her muscles were there for a reason.

_ Okay Holst, _ he thought, clenching his fists and getting into position. _ Don’t get too cocky. _

He managed to let the boiling confidence from being singled out cool into a simmer. He could do this.

“And…” Sir Alois sang, raising both hands high in the air. “Go!”

Like a strike of lightning, Cassandra ran forward at full speed towards Holst. She raised her fist and aimed it for his face--but Holst sidestepped without a word.

“What!” she gasped, and Holst grinned as she whipped around towards him again, nostrils flaring with rage. “Stand still!”

Holst didn’t, easily ducking and weaving between her blows, even backflipping out of her reach when she tried to get crafty with a sweep at his legs. He skidded back, boots squeaking against the stone floor. A girl gasped at the movement, and Sir Alois said, “Well now, you two might want to take it easy! We are still in class!”

But if Cassandra heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it. She growled and ran for Holst again. This time Holst counted the steps, seconds, calculated--and as she came to him, he spun past her, throwing a punch directly into her side.

It happened just the way it was meant to, knocking her to her knees gasping for breath. But, almost as if it were a reward, Holst felt energized in a way he couldn’t describe. He grinned, shaking out his aching fist. “Draining blow,” he said pleasantly, smiling at Sir Alois.

Cassandra curled up in a ball on the floor with a groan as the rest of the class applauded, and Holst made exaggerated bows to each of them. “Thank you, thank you--please! Your flattery is unnecessary!”

But he couldn’t deny he preened under it, like a dog with a good rub between the ears.

A little bit of shuffling and the classroom was back to before, chairs and tables neatly aligned, Holst and Cassandra both in their own seats. Class went off without a hitch, Holst riding the high of his victory throughout the lecture.

It was afterwards, when Cassandra pushed through her crowd of fans to stand in front of his desk, that Holst's good mood began to dissipate.

She smiled wide at him, but Holst was an expert at fake smiles. He saw right through to her molten core. "So I heard you want to talk to me," she said. "Let's talk."

Holst wasn’t surprised when, minutes later, he found himself shoved against the wall in an isolated hallway, Cassandra’s fist curled in the front of his shirt. “Don’t think I don’t know the game you’re playing,” she growled.

Holst fought the urge to roll his eyes. Did everyone assume he was playing a game? He was more honorable than that--his parents would have a heart attack if he were anything less. So instead of making a face or asking if Miklan had gone to her head, he said, “I think I’d know if I were playing a game.”

The fury in Cassandra’s expression was _ palpable _, and Holst instinctively covered his face to block a punch. It didn’t come, however, Cassandra only gripping his shirt tighter. “Stay away from Chris, got it? He doesn’t like you—”

“Uh, everyone likes me?” Holst laughed in disbelief, but there was no humor in his voice. Everyone liked him. Well, not Miklan, but he hadn’t tried to endear himself to him yet. And not Byron, but he was working on that—

Cassandra shoved him harder against the wall. “He’s not like all your little one night stands, okay?” she spat. “Chris is going through a rough time right now, and he doesn’t need someone like you messing with his feelings.”

Holst wanted to protest--he wasn't _ messing _ with anything, his attraction was genuine--but he didn't. Christophe's eyes flashed in his head again. “A rough time?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes and let him go, crossing her arms over her chest. “His fucking _ mom _ just died--well, I mean, I guess that was a few years ago, but—” Cassandra stopped and looked at him and threw her hands in the air. “Goddess! I don’t know if he even knows he likes guys yet!”

Holst recalled the way he blushed just looking at him, the teasing tone in his voice when he insisted Holst _ try harder _.

“Nah, I think he knows,” he muttered, but Cassandra wasn’t listening.

She’d begun ranting, pacing back and forth in front of him. “Everyone in school thinks he’s a weirdo, and I can’t even help, because if I hang out with him all the time, they’ll think he can’t do anything by himself--and he’s so smart, I wish he’d just apply himself more in class, it’s like he has no motivation--and he’s always talking about how he wants to go home, but I know those kids just stress him out more—”

“Kids?” Holst asked, eyes wide. Was Christophe a father? He’d pegged him for young--at least a year or two younger than him, but—

“His siblings,” Cassandra said, and it was like the light of the stars shone directly over her head.

Everything after that was a blur. He couldn’t hear a word she said. Siblings. Siblings! Christophe Gaspard was a big brother, just like him! He suddenly forgot about pickup lines, about flirting and wooing and games. Maybe if Christophe was a brother like him… maybe he could understand. Everyone he'd met so far merely rolled their eyes or awkwardly laughed when he tried to talk about how much he loved his little sister.

Maybe Christophe would smile instead.

“That’s it!” he shouted, and before Cassandra could react, he yanked her into a bruising hug. “Thank you!”

He took off running, plans already brewing, ignoring Cassandra’s spluttered protest. “Hey!” she shouted after him. “Goneril, you asshole, if you hurt him, I’m gonna make you repent from your grave!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna tentatively say I'll update weekly, but I'm notoriously bad at keeping to schedules so don't hold me too tightly to that XD I'm excited to share this chapter, I really love Holst, he's an interesting character to write. From what little we know of him, Hilda says he's expected to be perfect all the time and that he's devastated when he disappoints someone or doesn't live up to expectations... so I can only imagine how heavily that plays into everything he does.
> 
> I was really happily surprised by the great reception chapter one got, so I hope you guys will enjoy this chapter too! Thank you so much for reading <3


	3. The Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christophe kept his secrets close to his chest for a reason... what did Holst think of him now?

Maybe it was naive of Chris to believe he’d scared Holst off by confronting him. He’d left the library that day on the verge of screaming, adrenaline making his head spin. How had he managed that courage?

He had no idea, but he was grateful for it. For about a week, the library was blissfully quiet. No secret rendezvous, no giggling maidens,  _ no _ Holst Goneril.

Chris could stay there for hours after class and before curfew, reading to his heart’s content. He’d found so many new stories, even a copy of King Loog’s journals! He’d made friends with the librarian, Tomas, who helped him find materials for his schoolwork and showed him around the library. Sometimes, he was even allowed to help him with his usual duties, putting books away or cleaning up after particularly messy students. It was so soothing.

Usually, Chris couldn’t bear the thought of going anywhere without Cassie. People had taken to whispering about him--stars only knew about what--and Cassie helped him ignore it. He knew he wasn’t… he wasn’t as sociable as his classmates. He’d made a habit of avoiding them, but it was lonely. At least in the library, surrounded by books and the occasional conversation with Tomas, he didn’t feel lonely.

But it was bound to end eventually.

As if summoned by Chris’s complacency, Holst appeared in the library one night, an excited smile on his face. At least this time he had no beautiful lover in tow. Instead he walked right up to the ladder Chris had mounted to grab a book. “Need any help?” he asked.

Oh his voice was infuriatingly charming. It had a lilt to it, one that made it hard to stay tense around him. Chris lifted his chin haughtily, leaning further to grab the textbook he needed.  _ Magical Processes and Theorems _ . Professor Hanneman had practically begged him to read it.

“I’m quite all right myself, thank you,” he muttered.

“You’re leaning a little far—”

Chris waved his hand dismissively, doing his best to ignore the gaze of those bright pink eyes underneath him. “I’ve leaned further,” he assured, though he was almost positive he hadn’t.

Had Holst not been there, he would have simply climbed down and adjusted the ladder. But the thought of being so near Holst made his stomach flutter, and he just could not have  _ that _ .

He wriggled his fingers instead, as if that might help him reach further.

“You look like you’re about to—”

_ Just a little closer _ , the tips of his fingers brushed the binding.

“I said, I’m—”

He gasped as the ladder shuddered, his toes slipping. He just managed to catch the book, but it only helped to knock a heap of other volumes off the shelf as he tumbled off the ladder. They clattered to the floor, and Chris braced himself to join them--if not for two muscular arms stopping his fall short, catching him like he was a maiden from a novel.

For a moment, after the flutter of pages faded and Chris realized what had happened, everything was still as night. Chris looked up, meeting Holst’s bright eyes. The stillness remained, breathless. There was nothing in the world but them, nothing but his pounding heart and the heavy book against his chest. Nothing but Holst’s strong arms under his back and knees. Nothing but their eyes locked together.

And then Holst smirked.

Chris’s starry gaze turned into a glare, and he wriggled in Holst’s arms as he started to laugh. “Oh, stop it!” Chris protested. He was sure he’d never been so embarrassed in his life. His whole face felt hot, even down his neck. “Let me down!”

“Okay, okay,” Holst laughed, easily setting Chris on his feet, lightly brushing a hand on his hip when he stumbled. “Are you okay?”

“I’m quite all right!” Chris huffed, turning to the books that had fallen. He dropped to his knees to gather them up.

He didn’t expect Holst to lean down and help.

He blinked owlishly at him, his hand frozen on the book he’d reached for. Holst smiled that teasing smile he had before, and Chris hoped his blush wasn’t too noticeable in the dim candlelight of the library. “You’re staring,” he sang.

Chris huffed and looked away, picking up the rest of the books blindly. He shot to his feet, arms full, and said, “You know where to put these, right?”

He looked down at Holst, still smiling up at him, something… sweet in his eyes. “Not a clue,” he admitted.

Chris sighed. He wanted to dislike Holst. Really he did. He’d never cared much for reckless, bothersome people--Cassie was an exception. But… something about Holst made it very hard to be annoyed by him. He could feel his heart softening already.

At length, he muttered, “Come on," and turned towards the stairs.

Chris led him up a familiar path, trying to ignore Holst’s gaze on his back. It made him walk stiff as a board, made his arms tremble around the pile of books against his chest. Why did Holst make him so  _ nervous _ ? He was nervous around lots of people--most people, actually--but this was…

He came to the shelf of misplaced books, setting his pile on top and looking expectantly at Holst. “Tomas keeps them here until he can put them away," he explained.

Holst nodded sagely, as if Chris’s words had come from the stars. “I had no idea.”

Chris refrained from saying,  _ Obviously _ . Instead he said, “If you have to return something and can’t find him, leave them here with a note and your name, okay?”

Holst smiled that sweet smile that made something in Christophe shiver. He stepped closer to him. “Thanks for the advice,” Holst said, and Chris leaned back, looked up to meet his eyes. “Sorry. For making you fall.”

Chris bit his lip and looked down, shameful. “Th-that was my fault, not—”

Holst stepped even closer, and Chris felt his stomach twist up in a strange way. Not quite uncomfortable. Not quite nervous. “I’m sure I didn’t help,” Holst whispered. When had they started whispering? “I actually just wanted to, uh, ask you a question—”

A loud bell gonged overhead, signaling curfew. Chris jolted back from Holst at the sudden sound, whipping away from him as his entire face turned hot with embarrassment. “O-oh, I’m--w-what was your—”

“It’s okay,” Holst laughed. Chris looked at him again. “Don’t want to be late to bed. Sir Seteth would murder us. I’ll ask next time.”

Chris couldn’t help cracking a smile at that. Sir Seteth? He’d never heard anyone refer to him so formally. But he would definitely have a field day if he caught them late to their dorms.

And the promise of next time… Well, maybe he wouldn’t hate that.

“Then, goodnight, Holst,” he said, scooting around him to scurry down the stairs--until Holst stopped him.

He held out a book to block his path, his smile surprisingly shy. “This is… the one you were looking for, right?”

Chris blinked at it and then up at Holst. It was indeed the book he was looking for. He hadn’t realized Holst noticed.

He knew he was blushing when he took it, curled it to his chest. “Thank you.” And he rushed off.

* * *

The next day brought Holst back to the library, already reading as Christophe stepped inside.

For a moment, all was silent, Holst focused on his book, Chris standing frozen in the doorway. Holst looked so… intent. Eyes tracing the words back and forth across the page, hand on his chin as if he were deep in thought.

For a moment Chris considered asking him what his question had been. It had raked through Chris’s brain all night. He’d barely slept, tossing and turning and wondering about it. Remembering Holst’s lucky catch, his arms wrapped around him. Just the memory of it made Chris’s hands sweaty.

But Holst didn’t seem to notice him.

Chris swallowed hard. Maybe… maybe he was just studying. No big deal.

He walked past Holst, struggling to ignore his presence. He walked upstairs to drop off his old books, came down to choose a new one. He settled into a spot, read a good chapter or two.

And all the while, Holst’s presence laid heavy in his mind. He was like a bright light, too bright to look at head on, but always blaring in his peripheral.

Chris was on edge, waiting for Holst to set down his book and sidle up to him with a teasing smile and a pretty word. He wasn’t sure if he wanted that. He’d gotten used to the peace and quiet of the library, and he didn’t want anything to ruin that--but Holst made him so curious.

Ugh what was wrong with him! Hadn’t he sworn to himself he wouldn’t be a rung on Holst’s ladder? Why did he care so much?

It didn’t matter anyway. Holst never came to him. The curfew bell rang, and when Christophe looked up, Holst was busy gathering his books and notes. Holst glanced up for only a moment to flash him a tired,  _ gorgeous _ smile that made Chris’s heart race. “Drowning in classwork,” Holst said, waving his textbook. “See you around, Christophe.”

With that, he sauntered out, and Chris was left staring helplessly at the place he’d left.

And it happened again the next day. The next day, the day after that. It became a strange little routine, Holst dutifully studying, Chris sneaking glances at him over the top of his book. Eventually, Chris got used to it. He even… kind of liked it.

The library, as much as Christophe considered it an escape, could be boring. Holst made things interesting. At least, he made Chris’s heart race, made his hands shake.

He just hoped Cassie wouldn’t notice something had changed.

* * *

“You seem down,” Cassie muttered, yanking messily at a weed. “Well, downer than usual.”

Chris sighed, reaching out to pull up his own weed. “The roots, Cassie,” he scolded, carefully digging into the dirt to capture the root ball underneath. “Or else it grows back.”

Cassie rolled her eyes, tossing the limp leaves she’d ripped out behind her. “Why do we have to do this stupid stuff anyway? Don’t see how it’s supposed to build up any muscle.”

Chris smiled to himself. Truth be told, he liked tending to the garden quite a bit. Soil and bugs and the velvet of flower petals. His mother had loved it too. He remembered watching intently over her shoulder as she weaved freshly grown flowers from the garden into a crown fit for royalty. Violets were her favorite. That was why, after she died, his father planted a field of them outside of Castle Gaspard.

The day they bloomed, Chris decided that he hated violets.

“You okay?”

Chris shook his head, surprised out of his thoughts by Cassie’s deep voice. “I’m not sad,” he whispered, leaning over to dig at a weed far from Cassandra. “Not any more than usual.”

“Well, you’ve been sighing a lot,” she muttered.

Chris felt his face go hot with a blush, and he bit his lip hard to keep from saying anything. He’d been sighing a lot for sure--but it had nothing to do with being sad.

“Ooh, Chrissy, are you blushing?” Cassie gasped, crawling around in the dirt to face him.

“Cassandra, you’ll hurt the vegetables!” Chris protested, hunching over to protect them from her assault.

But even that flimsy attempt to hide his face did nothing. “You  _ are  _ !” she shouted.

Chris looked up at her, eyes wide with horror. “No, I’m not—”

“You’re pale as snow, Chrissy, can’t hide it from me!” She threw an arm around his neck, yanking his face into her chest. “Did someone steal your heart? Who’s the lucky guy!”

Chris struggled to wriggle out of her grasp without actually touching her as she stuttered, “O-or I mean girl--but guys are good too--I know we haven’t had the talk—”

Chris finally managed to pop free, red as the tomatoes they were weeding. “Cassandra, I have no interest—”

“It’s not that Goneril kid, is it?”

Chris froze, his eyes going wide, his blush gracing the tips of his ears. Were he any hotter, steam would rise from his head. Cassandra’s eyes went impossibly wide, and Chris covered his face in his hands. Curse his fair complexion! Why was the Goddess so cruel?

“That asshole!” Cassie shouted.

Chris looked around in horror. There was no one in the greenhouse besides them but the head gardener, who was absolutely staring. Chris waved his hands at Cassie to shush her. “Please keep your voice down—”

“I warned him to back off!”

Chris paused, his brows furrowing. “You what?”

“I told him, Chrissy, I said, ‘He’s going through a rough time right now, his mom died and—’”

Chris felt his whole body go cold. His face paled so fast he felt dizzy. “Cassie,” he breathed.

“You’ve got a lot on your mind, with the kids and—”

“Cassie, you what?”

“I told him to stay away from you, or I’d—”

Chris grabbed her shoulders, screaming through his teeth, “You  _ what  _ !”

Cassie went almost as pale as Chris himself, her blue eyes wide. “Maybe I uh… said too much?”

Chris almost wanted to cry, but mostly he longed to curl up and disappear. Cassie always had a loose tongue, saying things she didn’t mean or else too honest, but  _ this _ ? This was on a whole new level.

“Cassie, why?” he whimpered. He let go of her to bury his face in his hands. “Why would you tell him that? I don’t even know him!”

“It was an accident!” she exclaimed. “You know I crack under pressure! He asked about you, and I just—”

“He…” Chris felt his stomach flutter. “He asked about me?”

He peeked through his fingers at her and very nearly hid away again when she smirked. “You  _ like _ him.”

Chris huffed, crossing his arms and looking far away from her. “D-don’t be ridiculous! He’s not my type,” he scoffed.

Cassandra laughed, loud enough for the head gardener to grimace at them again. “Oh, you have a  _ type _ now?” She elbowed him in the side. “What is it, tall, pink, and handsome?”

Chris shot to his feet. “My type is ‘keeps it in his pants,” he huffed, picking his way through the flowerbed. “And ‘doesn’t tell everyone her friends’ business!’”

Chris heard her laugh follow him even after he escaped through the greenhouse doors.

* * *

It followed him all day, in fact. That night, he lay in bed, holding his mother’s amulet tight in his hand, thinking about it. How could Cassie tell Holst something so personal? The only people who really knew were Cassie and himself. Back home, his father, of course.

And…

In the great hall of Castle Gaspard, there was a beautiful painting of his mother. Olivia Charon-Gaspard. When Christophe closed his eyes, he could see it very clearly in his mind. Sitting regally in her favorite chair, eyes facing the painter, hands clasped delicately in her lap. Her hair was done up in gorgeous pearls and silver pins. She had such long, beautiful golden hair, curled delicately at the ends, and her eyes were so deep and brown.

He remembered… Ashe standing underneath her portrait, eyes wide as ever.  _ Who’s that? _ he’d asked.

And Christophe’s throat had tightened to the point of pain, barely able to breathe, hands trembling. His father said,  _ That’s my late wife, Ashe. _

_ Is she our new mom? _ Angela gasped.

_ Late means dead _ .

Christophe hadn’t meant to say it. The words just came out, unbidden, unwarranted.

Everyone turned to him, Ashe hiding just the littlest bit behind his father’s leg. Big, wide eyes. Pleading.

_ She’s not your mom. _

Christophe opened his eyes. He didn’t like that memory. He didn’t like the way Ashe teared up after he said that, or the way Angela growled at him, or Alistair’s blank stare up at the portrait. He didn’t like the disappointment in his father’s face.

He was trying, he really was. It was just so hard to go from nothing to three little kids running circles around him. He hadn’t asked for them. When his father told him he wanted them to have a family again, he’d whispered,  _ I thought we already were a family. _

A family could be just him and his father. He didn’t know how to share him. He didn't want to share him.

He didn’t want anyone else to know about his mom.

Chris curled up on his side, curled up around his amulet. Why had Holst even asked? That was so… so invasive! So rude and--he could have come to Chris, he could have asked him, instead of digging around for secrets. Well, Chris hoped he was proud of himself, holding something like this over him when Chris didn’t know a thing about him.

He couldn’t bear to wonder what Holst thought of him. Did he think of him as some pathetic sad kid, did he think he was weird like everyone else did?

The thought brought tears to his eyes. Why did he even care? Since when did he care what Holst thought of him? They’d spoken maybe twice, and both times they’d traded little more than light banter. So what if Holst had a beautiful smile, so what if he’d saved Chris from a concussion, so what if Chris blushed every time he came near?

Chris didn’t care what an insincere flirt like Holst Goneril thought of him.

* * *

The next time he saw Holst, Chris’s stomach felt like the heavy pit of a fruit. He hated pits, dark and wet and sticky, sour against his tongue. Holst sat hunched over a textbook, not even looking at him, yet Chris couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking and if it was about him.

Did he pity Chris, was that it? Was Chris just an easy score to him, comfort the sad kid and get a fun night out of it? It made Chris feel sour and dark and sticky.

Today, when Chris walked past, Holst actually looked up to watch him go. He looked… exhausted. For a moment, Chris’s heart faltered. How could he be mad at someone so—

Ugh no! He was mad! How dare Holst go digging behind his back, squeezing his life story out of his friend? So disrespectful!

“Hey.”

Chris whipped around at the sound of his voice. Stars, this close he could tell Holst hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. His bright eyes only made the shadows under them more prominent, and his rakish grin trembled at the edges. Chris felt this awful urge to bundle him up in warm blankets and make him tea.

“I know we don’t know each other well,” Holst said, breaking him from his silly fantasy. “But I thought I’d ask you that question I meant to earlier?”

Chris blinked up at him, and his cheeks went hot, and his dark, sticky pit choked him. He frowned deeply. “Well, I’d say you know me quite well.”

Holst’s eyes widened in surprise. Chris huffed and turned away. Stars, he didn’t even know what he was supposed to be looking for as he stormed off--especially not when Holst followed after him.

“Wait I—”

“You know it’s incredibly rude to talk about people behind their back—”

“I only—”

Chris whipped around and stabbed a finger into Holst’s-- _ oh _ \--surprisingly muscular chest. “You…” He faltered for a moment, looking at his chest, and then his eyes flickered back up to Holst as he yanked his hand back. “Y-you have a lot of nerve asking  _ me _ anything after asking everyone else about my secrets!”

He curled his hands back to himself, then pulled the sleeves of his coat to hide his palms. He thought,  _ Okay, good, now walk away, Chris! _

But he didn’t. He stood there, blinking up at Holst as if he expected the perfect excuse to fall from his lips. As if he wanted one.

“I’m… sorry,” Holst said, eyes still wide like a doe. “I wanted to get to know you better.” Chris raised his eyebrows, urging him to keep going. “But… that was… the wrong way to do it.”

Chris hadn’t actually expected an apology. He didn’t know why. He supposed he didn’t know Holst at all, and yet he’d just assumed…

Maybe… Holst really did just want to get to know him better.

“Christophe?”

Chris bit his lip, turning away. “I… I think you just impressed me,” he admitted.

He didn’t miss the glint of Holst’s toothy grin. Suddenly that pit that was his stomach felt sweet and whole again. “Sounds like an accomplishment.”

Chris bit his lip harder to keep from smiling. He turned to walk away from Holst, trailing his hand over the soft spines of books as he passed. Holst followed like a duckling. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“I should have come to you first,” Holst said, following embarrassingly close, poking the books on the shelf as Christophe’s hand left them. “I thought it’d be better if I knew just what to say next time we talked.”

Chris frowned, looking back over his shoulder at Holst. “And what did you come up with? I’m sure it wasn’t catching me from the heavens like some hero from a romance--ah--from a novel.”

Holst’s eyes glowed so bright in the dim library. Chris swore he saw them twinkle. But then he looked away, at the books. “I heard you were a brother, like me. I wanted to ask what they’re like. Your siblings I mean.”

Chris frowned deeper, turning to look up at Holst with wide eyes. Of everything Holst could ask, he hadn’t expected that. “I-I’m…” He looked down at his feet between them, swallowing hard. “I’m not a good brother.”

He felt his eyes well up with tears. He knew it was true, but saying the words out loud made him feel awful. He barely knew his siblings, and he didn’t know how to talk to them, and he hadn’t even asked for them, and he couldn’t share any part of himself with them.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Holst said.

His voice was so soft and gentle that it surprised Chris. He looked up at him from beneath his lashes, reaching up to wipe the tears welling in his eyes. “How do you know?”

Holst smiled. “Well, for one, if you were an actually bad brother, you wouldn’t be all broken up about it.”

Chris blinked at him, blinked away the tears. Maybe… he was right.

“But I—”

“Why don’t you tell me about them?”

Chris bit his lip hard and looked away again. He hadn’t… actually spoken to anyone about them before. A little to Cassie, maybe. But he kept them to himself. A secret, like his mother. “I… I don’t know…”

Holst laughed, but the sound was so soft, breathy. Like whispering. “I could start, if you’d like?”

Chris nodded slowly, unable to look at Holst. “Okay,” he whispered.

Holst stepped away, and when Christophe looked up, he saw he was heading upstairs, backwards, waving for Chris to follow. He didn’t know why he didn’t hesitate. He scurried up the stairs after Holst, a weak smile on his face. “My little sister is named Hilda,” Holst said. It made Chris’s smile widen.

They walked through the shelves upstairs, where the older books rested, covered in cobwebs and dust. As they weaved between them, Holst leading Chris stars knew where, he continued to describe his darling little sister. “She’s ten, but she actually looks a lot like me! She’s like my twin. Well except she’s super pale.”

Chris tilted his head, admiring Holst’s tan as he followed behind. "How is that?”

Holst’s laugh was far too loud for the library, but it was just them anyway. “She’s lazy as all get-out! If she doesn’t have to leave the castle, she’ll sit her little ass down and grow roots.”

Chris couldn’t help his laugh in response. Holst turned a corner, and he hurried to catch up, rounding it and nearly running right into him. Holst smiled down at him, his eyes sparkling. Chris felt his face turning red, but he didn’t back away.

“Any of your siblings like that?” Holst asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Christophe bit his lip, searching Holst’s gaze. “Angela,” he whispered back. “She’s… She’s the middle child. She’s um, she won’t do anything she’s told. I guess you could say she’s lazy. Stubborn is… Stubborn is more like it.”

Holst’s grin was dazzling. Chris nearly forgot how close they were. “Come on, there’s this place I like to sneak up to.”

“Sneak up to?” Chris asked, but Holst had already whipped around, leading him deeper into the library.

Chris had spent weeks in there, and yet the path Holst led him down was completely new to him. A winding road, in between and through bookcases, and even under one. Holst reached his hand through to help Christophe down, but yanked it back even before Chris could flinch and reject it. “Sorry, it’s uh—”

Chris knelt down, looking at Holst with a smile. “Under here?”

Holst smiled back and nodded.

Behind the bookshelf was a secret little alcove, just big enough for two people. When Chris looked back, he could barely see through all the books to the library they’d left. “How… how did you find this place…?” Chris asked, turning to face Holst again and suddenly feeling shy. It had been only them in the library, but now, in this enclosed space, it really, truly felt that they were alone together. He’d… never shared a secret like this with anyone but Cassie.

“I like to come here sometimes to study,” Holst said.

“Sometimes?”

“When you’re not around to keep me company.” Holst winked, and Chris blushed, looking as far away as he could. “Kidding, kidding. Come here.”

Holst backed towards a long cushion set into the wall, and Chris took a tentative seat on the other end. It was surprisingly plush. How long had this been hidden back there? Once Chris got all comfortable, lifting his legs to cross underneath him, Holst leaned against the wall and said, “So Angela is the middle child?”

Chris nodded slowly. “Um… Alistair is the youngest. A-and Ashe is… Ashe is the oldest.”

Holst’s eyes glittered in the near darkness around them. Glowing bright with his crest. “Tell me about them. What’re they like?”

Chris frowned, thinking hard about them. What  _ were  _ they like? Well, Alistair was quiet like him, but not in a shy way. It always seemed like he was just… evaluating the things around him. “Alie likes learning new things,” he whispered. He cleared his throat and said, a little louder, “He’s always following my father around and um… copying the things he does? Like…” He smiled a little. “He’ll take a quill and follow my father’s hand directly. And he ends up with these silly little scribbles as if he’s writing, but I’m quite sure he doesn’t know how to read yet.”

“How old is he?”

Chris looked up at Holst, eyes wide. He sounded… so genuinely interested. Eager. Earnest. It made Chris smile even wider. He almost felt himself tearing up again. “He’s five. Angie is six, um, Ashe is eight.”

“And what’s Ashe like?” Holst asked, leaning his elbows on his knees. It brought them close together again.

Chris laughed at his excitement. Holst was… so sweet. Chris curled his legs up to his chest, leaning his cheek against his knees. “Ashe is… well, he’s quiet like Alistair and stubborn like Angela, but he’s so kind. He’s gentle with everything, and… he’s very brave.”

“Brave, how so?”

Chris shrugged, turning his head to put his chin on top of his knees. “He… When we adopted them, they’d been living on the streets for years, and he did… he did everything to take care of the other two. He’s so strong.” Chris swallowed hard and hugged his knees. “I could only hope to be half as strong as that.”

“I think you’re plenty strong, Christophe.”

Chris let out a short little, humorless laugh. “You don’t…” Chris looked over at Holst again, still looking at him with those sparkling eyes. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I’d like to,” Holst said, his voice so soft and genuine that Chris couldn’t help smiling back. “I’d like to know everything about you.”

Chris laughed a little, this one with quite a bit more humor than before. “I don’t know,” he chuckled, stretching his legs out before him, leaning his hands on the edge of the cushion. “That information is usually friends only, Mr. Goneril.”

“Well, then let’s be friends.”

Chris whipped around to him, eyes wide with surprise. He’d never… well no one had ever asked to be his friend so candidly before. No one had ever asked to be his friend period. Even Cassie had been his friend for as long as he could remember, an unspoken bond. He was so young when they met, he couldn’t recall how it had happened in the first place.

But Holst…

“Okay,” he said.

Holst grinned dazzlingly bright and wide. “Yeah?” He reached as if to lay his hand over Chris’s, but he faltered and shoved it in his own pocket instead. “Well, then, you want to study with me? I’ve got a test coming up, and you look like you could help.”

Chris grinned back. “Is that so?”

“Oh for sure.” Holst winked at him, sending an excited shiver down his spine. “You have intelligent eyes, Christophe Gaspard.”

Chris bit his lip, but it couldn’t hold back his grin at all. “It’s Chris,” he corrected. He rose to his feet and backed towards the hidden entrance again. “You can call me Chris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christophe talking about the kiddos makes my heart very soft, and I love them. This chapter was really fun to write! I'm so glad they're finally friends lolol XD Thanks for reading, as always! Hope you guys enjoy =D
> 
> Also! I doodled my designs for them on twitter! Here's a link, so you have a better visual for them lolol: https://twitter.com/novelistangel23/status/1193699608205176832


	4. The Struggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holst Goneril was perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Holst jolted awake at the sharp pinch on his arm, gasping, “I’m sorry!” as he came to.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and he realized that he wasn’t actually in class this time. His mom hadn’t been the one pinching him awake, but rather Christophe Gaspard, blinking at him in surprise as Holst stared slack jawed up at him. Oh.

He looked around. The candlelight flickering off the stone walls and smooth wooden tables. The scent of dust and old parchment paper. He was in the library, sitting across from Chris, surrounded by textbooks and notes and--

“Oh shit,” he groaned, lifting his arm out of a pool of spilled ink. At least he’d rolled his sleeve up--it’d be hell getting that out of fabric.

“Are you all right?” Chris asked.

Holst forced a bright grin, holding his dripping arm carefully away from the books. “I-I’m fine, just--you know, it’s late and I--”

“It’s lunchtime…”

Holst’s smile didn’t waver, but he felt the pierce of Christophe’s gaze. They’d been tentative friends for at least a few weeks now, and he’d become intimately familiar with Chris’s firm, cool stare. Well, not _ intimately _\--Chris still scoffed every time Holst flirted with him, but definitely familiar. It seemed no matter how brightly and enthusiastically he smiled, Chris saw right through him.

It was kind of eerie.

It was mostly frustrating.

“You’ve been studying really hard lately,” Chris said, and Holst preened at the hint of pride in his voice. “Maybe you should take a break.”

Holst did falter at that. He didn’t frown--_ a frown is unbecoming _\--but he knew his bright smile turned from a sparkle to a shimmer. He watched Chris writing something in his personal textbook, handwriting small and neat with an elegant flourish. Perfect.

Holst’s stomach ached.

“Actually,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ve got um… I’ve got to meet up with a teacher, I’ll talk to you later.”

He gathered his books in his arms, wincing when he remembered the still wet ink all down his forearm. He grimaced at it, until Chris’s soft voice whispered, “Oh,” behind him. Holst turned to him. His content smile had fallen, and he furrowed his brow, quill frozen on the paper. “Then… have fun, I suppose. Um, tell them I said hello.”

Holst’s stomach hurt so bad. Had… Maybe he’d skipped lunch? He’d been doing that a lot lately.

But Holst wasn’t stupid enough to think that sad wet shine to Chris’s eyes didn’t hurt more.

“Why don’t we grab tea after class tomorrow?” he asked, hoping it would be enough to make Chris smile.

It did, but the smile only lasted a moment before faltering again. Chris looked down at his textbook, messy bangs hiding the truth of his expression. “It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t have to--”

“I want to,” Holst insisted.

Chris lifted his head again, squinting at Holst with those strange, all-knowing eyes. It made Holst feel naked--and not even in a fun way. “If you promise to take a nap?” he said, and though his tone was sweet and teasing, Holst felt it like an arrow through his heart. “You look exhausted.”

Holst didn’t acknowledge that. Did he? He’d never thought about it, and now his head spun with panic, wondering if there was something too obvious in his face. His mother had always said, a clear face made for a clear mind, made for a clear leader--

He winked at Chris, shoving the thoughts down with a hard swallow. “It’s a date,” he said, turning to leave the library.

“In your dreams,” Chris giggled as he left.

* * *

“Holst!”

When Holst shot awake, he realized too late that he was leaning against a wall and very nearly fell flat on his face. The only thing that stopped him was Myra’s hand against his chest, surprisingly strong, as if she’d braced for him to fall. He stared at her for a few seconds, taking in her long lavender hair and golden eyes, and then gasped, scrambling back from her.

“I wasn’t sleeping!” he shouted, looking around frantically.

They were standing in the training grounds, which Holst vaguely knew were supposed to be full of people. He remembered… he’d fallen asleep to the clash of swords, to the clamor of a strategy debate, the flash of spells slung across the grounds.

But it was empty now.

“They left once they realized you’d fallen asleep,” Myra said, rubbing her arm with a frown.

Holst felt his face twist up in frustration, and try as he might, it was so hard to fight it off. “They what!” he shouted, and when Myra jolted at the sound, he stepped back, his face falling neutral. “I’m…”

She laughed, shaking her head and stepped back from him as well, giving him a wide berth as she walked around him towards the doors. “You can’t blame them… Ever since the mock battle, you’ve--”

“I know,” he muttered, and then forced himself to smile. _ Smile, smile _. “I know, I’ve been a little tough… Thank you for letting me know, Myra, I’ll be sure to slow things down.”

She squinted at him. Myra didn’t have that same knowing look to her eyes as Chris--that one that made Holst feel bare and exposed--but she did have a piercing gaze. She liked to say she was an oracle of sorts, that the Goddess had gifted her with the power to tell a person’s true character just by looking at them.

Holst wasn’t sure he liked that. He wasn’t sure what she saw when she looked at him.

“I know we lost,” she said, looking thoughtful. She tucked some hair behind her ear. “But surely winning isn’t everything.”

Easy for her to say. She was a commoner, with no Crest. No one relying on her, expecting _ great things _.

He wondered what that felt like.

“Of course,” he said, his smile never wavering. Then he walked past her, towards the doors himself. “Well, anyway I have classwork to finish, let’s get back to our dorms.”

They walked together wordlessly, Holst thinking about that classwork waiting for him. Reason magic had evaded him from the moment he laid eyes on the first assignment. He’d come up with a dozen excuses. Maybe he was just too tired that day, or maybe it had been written in a confusing manner.

Holst Goneril was _ perfect _. There was no way he just didn’t get it. He’d never found a skill he couldn’t master.

And if he did, he simply ignored it.

The only problem was, he couldn’t ignore his classwork. If he let it pile up, unfinished, he’d fail Professor Hanneman’s class, and he couldn’t fail, he couldn’t fail, he wasn’t a failure.

He and Myra went their separate ways, wishing each other goodnight, and he trudged up the stairs to his dorm. It was all the way at the end of the hall, such a long way to walk when every step was heavy as lead. Maybe he really was tired. Maybe he did need to sleep.

His stomach hurt so bad, he was sure he’d skipped one too many meals, but the thought of going back downstairs and sneaking something late from the dining hall was too embarrassing. What if someone caught him?

“Well, well, if it isn’t Holst Goneril. Aren’t you late to bed?”

Holst sighed deeply as he reached his door, turning to look at Miklan walking down the hall towards him. He plastered his sickly sweet smile on his face. “I could say the same to you, Mikky,” he said.

Mikky wasn’t wearing his coat, dress shirt rolled up to his biceps, dark with sweat all down his chest and under his arms. Clearly he’d been putting in a few rounds at the knight's hall or something. He said as much to Holst, leaning close to his face as he walked around him. “Thought I’d get some exercise in before bed. Not that I need it.”

Holst didn’t look as he heard the door open on the other side of him. Wasn’t it just his luck that Miklan's room was right next to his? So lucky. Woohoo.

“What about you?” Miklan asked, leaning against his door. “Second place in the mock battle, such a shame that shiny Crest can’t carry your whole team.”

Holst gritted teeth behind his smile as he swung open his own door. “Such a shame you don’t have one.”

He shut his door behind him, just in time to dodge Miklan’s fist pounding on it. “Hey! Get out here and say that to my face!”

Holst flicked off the door, before falling flat on his face on his bed. Miklan was so fucking frustrating.

Oh Goddess… He realized as he was laying there that he shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have, what if Miklan went around telling everyone? What would people think of him, saying something so cruel in the heat of the moment?

_ So disrespectful _, he heard his mother scoff.

_ You must control that temper, Holst _, his father sighed.

_ Perfect, perfect, perfect _, an obnoxious voice in his head chanted.

Holst buried his face in his pillow, then groaned and stuck his head underneath, pulling it down hard to cover his ears. He was so tired, his stomach hurt so bad. He just… he just wanted to sleep… why was that so hard?

_ Because you don’t deserve it _.

Holst grimaced. He knew it was true. He had so much work left to do, he didn’t deserve to sleep yet. He raised his head, the pillow flopping onto his back as he looked over at his desk, where his reason textbook lay spread across his notes. He’d taken one look at it, found it incomprehensible, and given up.

Fuck, he couldn’t do that. He had to get it right. How hard could it be? He was _ Holst Goneril _ . He was _ perfect _.

Holst took a deep, shaky breath, blinking back tears, and then rose to his feet to grab the book. He’d just read a little. Just a sentence or two. It was okay, it wasn’t as hard as it seemed, it was fine, he would get it.

But it was hard to read through the tears. They welled up over and over as he struggled to understand even a word written before him. By the time the sun came up, Holst had passed out in a pool of his tears, and even then, only for a moment.

* * *

“What are you reading?” Christophe asked, brows furrowed and eyes piercing.

“And why are you reading instead of fishing?” Cass grumbled.

Holst looked up from the letter in his hands. Chris sat cross legged on the dock, his pants rolled up to his knees and a childlike glee in his eyes as he deftly hooked a piece of bait to his line. Cass had already cast hers, standing at the edge of the dock as the wind blew her hair from her face.

He’d managed to finagle at least an hour out of his busy schedule to spend time with them, but... 

He smiled a little down at his letter. “Um… it’s from Hildy. She hasn’t been able to write back in a little bit, so…”

Chris’s concern fell away to a dazzling smile. He set aside his fishing pole and crawled over to sit next to him. “How exciting! I hope all is well?”

Holst gladly tilted his shoulder to let Chris read over it. “Oh, of course they are. My baby sister could make even the darkest days brighter with the power of her smile.”

Holst had said sappy shit like that a thousand times before, but where most people rolled their eyes, Christophe only laughed, delighted. His eyes eagerly skimmed over Hilda’s words, as if reading one of those books he loved so much. At ten years old, Hilda wasn’t exactly elegant, but all of her letters ended in cute curly cues, and she dotted her i’s with painstakingly drawn hearts. “Her favorite shape,” Holst explained.

Chris’s fingertips tentatively touched the edge of the page, just between Holst’s wrists. “These pink stains,” he hummed. “Flower petals?”

Holst realized, looking at Chris’s pale hand between his own, just how close Chris was to him. His curls brushed Holst’s jaw, soft as wool, and though Chris was careful not to let their skin touch, Holst felt the heat of his hand against his palms.

“Y-yeah,” he breathed, glancing down at Chris’s content, blissfully unaware expression. Goddess, he had no right looking so lovely. “S-she knows pink is my favorite color.”

Chris’s laugh was sweet as wind chimes, and when he leaned back to look up at him, Holst’s mouth when dry. The wind had picked up, blowing Chris’s bangs from his face. Usually, those messy curls hid his features, but now Holst could clearly see the bridge of his nose scattered ever so slightly with pale freckles; his bushy, expressive eyebrows; his long, lovely lashes.

“Pink is your favorite color?” Chris asked, a teasing smirk on his sweet, bow-shaped lips. “Isn’t that a little… narcissistic?”

Holst swallowed hard and then scoffed, nudging Chris’s shoulder with his own. “So what! Pure coincidence, I assure you,” he snickered, then carefully folded Hilda’s letter and hid it inside his vest, close to his heart. Even just its presence made him breathe a little easier. It’d been a rough week, sure, but the thought that Hilda missed him as much as he missed her…

Holst looked at Chris who had gone back to his fishing pole, kicking his feet through the murky water. Sitting beside him this way, the sunlight in his hair, like spun gold from a fairy tale, Holst could almost believe they were the only ones in the world. As if the sun and the wind and the water were stage pieces for their opera.

Then Cass shouted, “I got one!” and the illusion shattered.

Chris cheered her on as she frantically reeled in her prize, shouting, “Go, Cassie, go!”

Holst watched her muscular arms bulge as she reeled, the normally smooth pond splashing violently as she wrestled with the silver fish underneath. The battle was so intense that Holst held his breath, gasping in air as--with a heave of effort--Cass finally wrangled in her catch.

It was properly huge, at least the length of Cass’s arm, and just as thick around. “Holy shit,” Holst gasped, staring at the fish in disbelief. “What _ is _ that thing?” He’d certainly never seen anything like it in Goneril.

Cass held it up with a cocky grin. “Breakfast,” she said simply, and then jogged off the dock and towards the dining hall. Holst watched her go, shaking his head. What a woman.

“You should try.”

Holst jolted and looked over at Chris, still illuminated by the rising sun. Chris didn’t have a Crest like Holst or Cass, but when he looked at Holst, the sunlight glinted off his eyes in such a way that made them seem to glow ever so slightly.

Holst stared at him for a second before blinking rapidly and saying, “Try what?”

Chris smiled, shrugging his shoulder towards an unused rod at his side. “Fishing. Cassie is the one who taught me, so I’m no master but… well, I know a few tricks.” His smile turned sheepish as he looked back down to the water. “I’d be happy to show you…”

Holst fought his frown with every bit of strength he had, but it came anyway. He didn’t fish. He had vivid memories of the first time he’d tried--simultaneously the last--how the slimy bait slipped from his fingers, how he pulled the line too fast and hard, how his father sighed and said, _ Maybe fishing isn’t for you. _

He didn’t remember how old he’d been, but he’d been young, and he’d never touched a pole since. His father had never invited him along again, and he was glad for it. He’d _ failed _. Fishing, it looked so simple, but he’d failed, and he was supposed to be perfect. How could something so easy not just come to him?

“Holst?”

Holst smiled and shook his head. Instead of taking the rod, he peeled off his boots and took a seat next to Chris, sinking his toes into the cold water. “I’d rather watch.”

Chris looked at him with those knowing eyes. Had Holst been wearing armor, he could imagine that gaze melting it off. “If you’re sure… it’s rather boring just watching.”

Holst smirked, leaning close to Chris and raising his brows. “What if I like watching you?”

The reaction was immediate. Chris’s eyes going wide as the moon, his face all the way to his ears as bright red as Gloucester roses. He whipped around to face the water, but there was no hiding his blush. “Th-that’s--w-well I--y-you--” Chris laughed, and the nervous sound was like the trill of a bird. “You are such a flirt! Go ahead and watch then!”

Holst grinned, leaning back on his hands and doing just that. The minutes passed in peace, no words exchanged, only the steady tweeting of birds as they awoke. Cass returned, a plate of fried fish in hand that they all helped themselves to. Chris did catch one fish--a tiny thing that he nicknamed Abby with a decisive nod. “No reason,” he said when Holst inquired. “She just looks like an Abigail.”

His bright red blush faded to a pale pink flush on the apples of his cheeks, like the last rays of sunset on a foggy wet day. Lovely. Holst knew it was probably a bit on the nose for him to love the color so much, given his appearance, but… Goddess, it was so beautiful on Chris’s face. He could adore it for that reason alone.

“What’s _ your _favorite color?” Holst asked absentmindedly, imagining the warmth against his fingertips if he were to touch Chris’s cheek.

Chris hummed in thought. “Mine’s obviously blue,” Cassie chimed in as he mulled it over. “Blue Lion pride!”

Holst rolled his eyes. Now where had he heard that before? “You’re starting to sound like Mikky boy.”

Cass made a face, not quite disgust, but certainly not joy. “Ugh, he’s such a drag,” she muttered. “Crest this, Crest that, like Crests are the only things that matter--”

“They are.”

Holst and Cass both looked at Chris who had reeled in an empty hook and now carefully lowered it into his palm. He didn’t say anything more, as if he hadn’t noticed they’d heard him.

“Chrissy,” Cass said.

He looked over at her, eyes wide. “What?”

She frowned, and Holst marveled at it. He’d never seen such concern on her face. As if she were talking to an injured child. “You don’t mean that.”

Something in Christophe changed, some palpable tension to his shoulders. He smiled, his eyes cryptically cold. “If you and I weren’t cousins, we would never have met.” He looked back over the pond, as still as Holst’s heart felt. “I mean, the only reason we’re even cousins is because your aunt and my father were betrothed in hopes I’d get a Crest.” He started to absently pick at his nails, and Holst wondered why it felt like he was so very far away. He rarely spoke of his mother--if ever. Even though they’d known each other for some time now, it was a topic he shied away from without a word. “But I didn’t, and now she’s…”

Chris stopped there and swallowed hard. He ducked his head. “It’s green.” He rose to his feet, setting his pole aside. “My favorite color.”

As he walked away, Cass let out a long, exasperated sigh, flopping back onto the dock. Holst stared as Chris disappeared around the corner, heading towards his dorm. He felt this deep urge to race after him, to see if he was okay, but he worried… he felt that…

What if Chris pushed him away?

“I didn’t know he cared about that kind of thing,” Holst whispered, staring at the space he’d left.

“Sometimes,” Cass sighed. She went silent for a long while, the morning loud around them. Then she sat up. “I think it’s his dad. Like, he’s a great dad but he’s kinda…” She waved her hand around. “You know, stuck in the status quo. He was basically born to marry my aunt and make a bunch of Crest babies, but when that didn’t work out he ‘found the Goddess’ or something, blah, blah, blah.” She shrugged, staring out at the smooth, rippleless pond, but despite her nonchalance, Holst could see the stone-like hardness of her gaze. “He’s really adamant about social standing and respecting your superiors or whatever.”

Holst nodded, looking back to the corner Chris had disappeared around. He wanted to run after him even more now. He wanted to explain that Crests weren’t all they were cracked up to be. If anything, he was _ jealous _ of Chris’s lack of one. What would his life had been like if he’d been born Crestless? Would his parents have cared about him at all?

His stomach hurt. A stabbing pain that nearly made him double over.

“I’ve gotta go,” Holst mumbled, rising to his feet. “Talk to you later, Cass.”

* * *

He was not jealous of Chris. Holst had to remind himself of that every time he saw him.

He wasn’t jealous that Chris never seemed tired, that he didn’t forget simple things like eating when he was hungry or signing his papers. He wasn’t jealous that no matter how much work he had to finish before the day was done, he had no panicked look in his eyes, he didn’t break a sweat.

Once, when they had a free day, Holst sacrificed one precious hour of sleep to watch Cass’s sword fighting tournament. He swung by Christophe’s room, knocked on his door, and when he came to answer it, yawning and messy, in his wrinkled night clothes, he looked _ gorgeous _. Breathtakingly so. How in hell did he do that, with his messy curls, his deep blue eyes?

But Holst wasn’t jealous of course.

Honestly all of that could be forgiven, even. Holst had always known he wasn’t a good noble. He was messy and loud and he felt too much, took everything to heart. The only reason he was so perfect was because it had been beaten into his head over and over that he _ had _ to be. He’d worked hard to look this effortless, worked hard to achieve his unmatched reputation.

Chris was just naturally that way. He was naturally quiet and poised, naturally beautiful and intelligent, naturally the very picture of nobility.

How fucking unfair that Holst had been the one born with a Crest and not Christophe, who deserved it.

Yes, he could forgive it--even pity it--because somehow, every time Chris smiled at him, it made Holst forget it all.

“Sorry I’m late,” had become Holst’s usual greeting, and “I don’t mind,” Christophe’s usual reply.

And then he would smile so pleasantly that, for a bare moment, Holst’s worries melted away--until that voice in the back of his head insisted, _ There’s no way he actually means that. Get your shit together, Holst! Stop disappointing him! _

Holst always offered his most dazzling smile in response, the one that made Chris blush, and he couldn’t understand why it _ ached _ . _ Look at me! _ he wanted to say, when Chris turned away. _ Look me in the eyes! _

But Chris went on, blissfully unaware, taking Holst’s smile at face value, never meeting his gaze. And Holst’s emotions simmered unchecked, just beneath the surface.

He was doing it again now. They were curled up in their secret little nook, Chris’s legs curled up towards himself, a big book in his lap. Smiling at the words, but avoiding Holst’s gaze as if it were dangerous.

Holst just stared up at him from his place on the floor, ignoring his own book. The candlelight of the library flickered between the shelves, casting deep, strange shadows on Chris’s pale skin. It was soothing, in a way. Watching them move, like shadow puppets on a wall. He’d done that with Hilda once. Set up a light behind them and made shapes with his hands. She’d screamed with delight, dancing in circles and telling stories.

“Holst?”

Holst blinked a few times before he realized Chris was talking to him, eyes still trained on his book. He’d been staring at it for some time, Holst realized, and hadn’t flipped the page. “Yeah?”

Chris bit his lip delicately, too softly to leave any dent or mark. Holst couldn’t help his eyes being drawn to the movement. “I’ve been… curious about something for some time now.”

Holst tilted his head at him, resting his elbow on his knee and his cheek on his fist. “Yeah?” He looked back down at his textbook--reason, of course--and pretended he understood a word of it.

“Well… Cassie told me you’re a skilled fighter,” he admitted. He was fidgeting now, absently thumbing through the pages of his book. “I was wondering if… we might be able to train together sometime?”

Holst stopped at that, looking up at Chris again, watching that beautiful pink flush find his cheeks even in the dim light. “You… wanna train with me?” he asked.

Despite himself, the idea excited him. Chris was… Chris was _ perfect _, and that was all well and good, but Holst was unmatched when it came to battle. That was the one thing he’d never had to force, the one thing he’d never had to fake.

Already, he was daydreaming of how it would go. He’d go easy on him, of course--he couldn’t bear the thought of marring his pretty face--but he’d show off all the same. He could just imagine the starry look in Chris’s eyes as he praised his skill and begged for some lessons. Yes, absolutely, they could train together.

Chris looked sheepish, glancing at Holst from beneath his lashes. “Y-yes, if that’s all right with you… I’d hoped to test my mettle against you.”

Holst grinned slyly, letting his book fall from his lap as he slid onto the cushion beside Chris, who curled into his corner, biting his lip a bit harder than before. “Test your mettle, huh?” he asked, scooting closer to him. He wiggled his brows knowingly. “Are you sure this isn’t just an excuse to see me shirtless?”

Chris giggled, lifting his book to cover his mouth, but his eyes glittered with mirth over the dusty old pages. “Oh, please,” he laughed, “I’m quite sure if that’s what I wanted, I’d need only ask.”

Holst grinned even wider, as Chris’s cheeks tinged pink and he hid his face behind his book. “Are you asking, Chris?” he teased, his hands going to the hem of his shirt. “Because I assure you, that can be arranged.”

He started to tug his shirt up, and Chris squealed in surprise, snapping his book shut and making as if to throw it at him. “Aren’t you late for class!” he cackled as Holst pretended to duck in terror. “Away with you, you animal!”

As much as Holst hated to admit it, he was right. He grabbed his books, winking at Chris as he went to crawl under their hidden entrance and leave. “How does Friday sound, my darling?” he teased.

Chris went even redder, biting his lip so hard, Holst was sure it’d leave a mark. “You awful flirt,” he huffed, though there was still some affection in the words. “Friday sounds lovely.”

* * *

“So,” Holst said, shrugging out of his vest and tossing it beside his bag, where his textbooks lay blissfully forgotten. “You’re more of a sword guy, right?”

Chris nodded, pulling his rapier from the scabbard at his hip. It was elegantly made, from the shining silver blade to the pale blue hilt and caged handguard. It seemed to fit Chris so well, obviously commissioned just for him.

“I’m not quite as skilled as Cassie,” Chris admitted, testing his grip and not looking at Holst. “But I think perhaps we’re just… differently skilled.”

Holst recalled his impromptu match with her weeks before, and the tournament he’d watched her fight in. She fought with such brutal ferocity, no thought or elegance. Reckless.

Looking at Chris, he could already tell he was different. He focused on himself, adjusting his footing. One foot forward, rapier steady in his dominant hand. He lifted the tip to point at Holst and lifted his chin to finally look at him. His piercing gaze was as hard and cold as Almyran sapphires. He’d never seen Chris so focused and intense.

It sent a shudder down Holst’s spine.

He took up a defensive position to match Chris’s, raising his fists, bending his knees. His playful smile fell away. “Don’t go easy on me,” he insisted, already studying where he’d have to pull his punches, to ensure Chris didn’t get hurt.

But then Chris smirked and said, “I won’t.”

Fast as wildfire, Chris lunged, his blade slashing at Holst like a whip. Holst barely managed to skid out of the way. He kept his eyes trained on Chris, but he was a blur. A slash to Holst’s side, thigh, arm--it was all Holst could do to dodge.

His mind spun along with his body, struggling to find a strategy. Chris wasn’t frail, but he was thin. Holst knew one good hit might take him down--and with Holst’s Crest, he could get in a few before Chris had a chance to react.

But clearly Chris knew that too. He left no openings for Holst to exploit.

He didn’t even give Holst time to search. One moment he was dodging, the next Chris slashed for his stomach, a little too close for comfort. Holst’s footing wobbled. He caught a glimpse of triumph in Chris’s expression. No time to react--Chris’s foot hit his chest, knocked the air out of his lungs, and then he was on the ground.

Christophe stood tall above him, foot over his heart, rapier pointed at his throat. The sun glinted overhead, silhouetting Chris with gold, like a glowing star.

He was breathless, panting just as hard as Holst, and sweat dripped down his temples. This had been a hard fought battle, a hard won victory.

But when he smiled, Holst growled.

Chris stepped off of him, his expression more cheery than Holst had ever seen. “Holst, you’re incredible!” he praised, holding out a hand as if to help him up. Holst didn’t even notice, rolling over to push himself to his feet. “I couldn’t land a single hit on you!”

Holst stared at the ground for a long moment before getting his feet under him. Chris was fast. That was fine. Holst was a little bulkier, had a little more muscle to him. He couldn’t… how could he have known that Chris was fast? This wasn’t his fault.

He just had to try again. He could do this.

“Let’s go again,” he snapped, interrupting whatever adoring praise was spilling from Chris’s mouth. He brushed himself off and whipped around to face him.

Chris seemed surprised, eyes wide, hands curled to his chest. He’d already put away his rapier, but he hurried to pull it out again. “Oh, um… okay,” he said, his hand clearly trembling.

Holst turned back around, yanking his hair tie out--a sweet little heart-shaped thing he’d stolen from Hilda--and pulling it tighter. Okay. No holding back this time. He was going to punch Chris in his stupid, perfect face.

This time, he bolted before Chris could even get into proper position. Chris’s eyes went wide in shock, and Holst managed to land a punch to his shoulder before he could fully dodge.

That was enough for Chris. Like the spark of a flame, he changed. From surprised and concerned to determined. No matter how fast and hard Holst fought, he didn’t land another kick or punch or even headbutt. Chris moved like water, fluid, smooth, _ easy. _

Holst was a bull.

Blinded by rage, he didn’t even realize how many openings he was leaving for Chris to use. Not until Chris used them, knocking Holst onto his back again and landing on his knees over him, rapier hovering above his heart.

His free hand was open on Holst’s chest, and if Holst weren’t so fucking angry, he might have appreciated it. He might have appreciated the position they were in, Chris’s thighs spread around his waist, the clear pink blush across his cheeks.

But he _ was _ angry. He felt it in him like a boiling swamp, thick and heavy and bubbling. He was _ pissed _.

“Are you okay?” Chris asked, panting and lowering his blade.

Holst growled and grabbed Chris’s shoulders, rolling them over and shoving Chris’s head against the dirt. Chris gasped, but he only stared up at him, face flushed red with more than exertion. “H-Holst?”

“Again!” Holst snapped, pushing off of Chris and shaking himself off.

_ Control your temper _ , he heard his father scold. _ Control your temper, control your temper _\--

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Chris said.

Holst whipped around to him, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. Chris, to his surprise, didn’t look upset or frightened at all, only guarded. His blade was already raised, and his eyes had that sad wet glint to them, the one that Holst deep down hated. It ached to see it there, ached in Holst’s chest as if something had reached inside and squeezed his heart. “What, you scared I’m gonna win?” Holst breathed.

“I’m scared you’re going to hurt yourself,” Chris said. Holst took a menacing step towards him, and Chris pointed his sword at his chest. “Holst, stay back.”

He raised his empty hand, whispered something under his breath, and suddenly flames burst to life in the center of his palm.

Holst froze, staring at the fire. The anger all but dissipated. All he felt was sick to his stomach. His eyes burned hot, his throat felt tight. “You can do magic, too,” he breathed.

Chris furrowed his brow, lowering his sword. “Holst--”

“You don’t even have to _ try _, do you?” he asked, and fuck, he felt tears welling up. “You’re just so fucking perfect at everything, all the time. Like it’s easy.”

Chris shook his head, sheathing his rapier and extinguishing the flames. He took a step towards Holst, nothing but pure concern on his face. “That’s not--”

But Holst backed away. “You don’t get it!” he shouted, the tears dripping down his cheeks. “You have no idea how hard I work!” He closed his eyes, put his hands on either side of his head, pushing at his temples as if he could squeeze his thoughts back in.

Suddenly, he wasn’t talking to Christophe. This wasn’t about magic or fighting. It wasn’t about how effortlessly beautiful Christophe was, or how he didn’t struggle with schoolwork. He was screaming about everything, to everyone. He curled up at his stomach and screamed, “I’m doing everything I can!”

Holst felt a hand touch his chest, and when he opened his eyes, through his tears, he made out Chris’s concerned gaze. He looked up at him, only inches away. His hand square on Holst’s chest, fingertips skimming his bare skin through the part of his collar. “Holst, you need to breathe,” he whispered.

But he couldn’t.

His chest rose and fell without any rhythm, struggling to catch anything stronger than a wheeze. He just couldn’t. He shook his head frantically, stumbled away from Chris. “I’m fine,” he gasped. He forced a wide grin, too wide. “I’m fine.”

And then he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeee, sorry for the cliffhanger... and sorry for taking so long to update! I needed a bit of a break from this, but I think I'm feeling pretty refreshed. I'm excited to continue writing!
> 
> And because I sometimes have a hard time replying, I want to thank everyone who leaves comments and kudos for your support. I truly didn't expect to find so many people interested in this silly rarepair of mine, and it's really uplifting to see people enjoying my work and waiting for the next chapter! Thank you so much!


	5. The River Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christophe dreamt of a river between them, raging and wild... was it so hard to build a bridge? To offer his hand across it?

Chris wasn’t sure where on the long walk from the training grounds to Cassie’s room he started crying, but by the time he made it to her door, he was inconsolable. His tears fell in heavy rivulets down either side of his face, dripping off his chin, and his nose was hot and sticky with snot. When Cassie opened her door, she froze and stared at him for a good few seconds, and Chris knew he must have looked awful. That thought only made him cry harder.

“Christophe, what happened?” Cassie gasped, grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him into the room beside her.

She shut the door as he stumbled inside, looking around with tear-blurred eyes. Her room was bigger than his, something he noticed only distantly, too busy ugly sobbing as she cleared out a space for them to sit on her bed. “Chris,” Cassie whispered, putting her big hands on his upper arms. “Hey, breathe for me, okay?”

Chris let out a horrible, achy sob. He covered his face in his hands. He felt so raw and wet, his throat thick and sore. Everything hurt so much. He couldn’t breathe.

“Is a hug okay?” Cassie asked. Weakly, Chris nodded.

Cassie’s arms were strong as anchors, holding Chris against her warm, plush chest, and her heartbeat was steady and loud. It seemed like they stood there for hours, Cassie humming over and over, “It’s okay, Chrissy… let it out…”

She kept her hands firm on his back, didn’t stroke or touch his skin, careful not to frighten him. Cassie… she knew him so well… It felt so safe. He felt so safe.

When the sobbing finally subsided, enough for him to speak, Cassie sat him down on the bed beside her and asked, “What happened?”

Now that his head was clear, he felt silly for crying so much. “H-he…” How could he explain it? “Holst, he--”

Cassie’s expression turned cold and hard as ice. “What did he do?” she growled.

Chris shook his head, wiping messily at his eyes. This was why he felt so silly for crying. Holst had yelled at him--attacked him even--but that didn’t matter to him.

He was crying because Holst pushed him away.

“I-I think he hates me,” he choked, burying his face in his hands again. “I th-thought--I’ve been trying really hard--I thought we were friends, I--”

“Chrissy,” Cassie said, firmly, her arm moving to go around his waist. “What in the world makes you think he _ hates _ you?”

Chris’s chin wobbled, tears welled in his eyes. The memory of it, of Holst’s thrumming heartbeat against his fingertips, his tear-filled eyes, the panic in his voice--and then that smile.

Chris wasn’t sure when he’d noticed just how fake that smile was. He had such a hard time recognizing such things... Maybe a part of him had always known, from that first moment they met, the way it trembled at the corners, the way it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Or maybe he’d only known once he saw his real smile, smooth and gentle as wind through a field of flowers, when he smiled at a letter from Hilda. Chris swore he’d felt something happen between them that day he first saw it on the dock, some understanding.

He just wanted to see that smile again.

But instead, since then, it just seemed that Holst was drifting further and further away. Holding Chris at arm’s length.

“He… something happened,” he said, his voice thick and wet with yet unshed tears. “He got really upset, and he yelled at me, and I…” Chris closed his eyes tight. Already, they felt so sore from crying. He couldn’t imagine squeezing another tear out. “I tried to comfort him, and he ran away.”

Chris felt Cassie’s shoulder move, and he looked up, almost ready to beg her not to go, not even for a moment--but he stopped at the smile on her face. “_ Cassandra _,” he gasped in horror. Her smile twisted as if she were about to laugh. “Cassie, this is not funny!”

Cassie wasn’t laughing though, just smiling and shaking her head. “Christophe, did he tell you that he hated you?”

Chris looked at her helplessly. “He… He screamed at me, Cass--”

“But did he say that he hated you?” she repeated.

“H-he was really--”

“Christophe.”

Chris’s lips trembled, and he looked away. “N-no…” he mumbled. “But--”

“Ah, ah!” Cassie exclaimed, shoving a finger against his chest and squeezing him closer to her side. “You don’t have half the people smarts as I do. If he didn’t _ say _ he hates you, then all you’re doing right now is putting words in his mouth.”

Chris shrank back, shoulders hunched as he looked away. She didn’t get it… She hadn’t seen the _ look _ on his face.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Cassie said, crossing her legs under her. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Chris sniffled and copied her pose, curling his legs up under him and holding onto his ankles. Maybe she was right. He’d always been a little too shy, a little too unsure of himself. He took things at face value, and when he tried to look any deeper, he got it all wrong. He couldn’t tell when someone had a crush on him, or when his father was upset with him or just teasing, or even that Cassie loved him until she told him so one day.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled, staring at the crumpled bed sheets under him. Blue for the Blue Lions. Just the same as his downstairs, but softer, nicer.

Cassie rubbed his arm just a bit, scooting closer to his side. “Shoulder?” she asked. Chris nodded, so she pulled him to rest his cheek against her shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for. Some people just aren’t good at reading people, you know?”

Chris nodded. He closed his eyes.

“Do you like him?”

Chris’s cheeks warmed. Holst was…

“He’s my friend,” he whispered.

“Then you should talk to him.”

Chris furrowed his brow, eyes still shut tight. The backs of his eyelids were pitch black. “I… I _ do _,” he protested, pulling off of Cassie’s shoulder and looking up at her with a pout. “I talk to him whenever I get a chance--”

“But does he talk to _ you _?”

Chris opened his mouth to say, _ Of course he does! _ But Cassie’s single quirked eyebrow made him hesitate. He shut his mouth. “I… think so…”

“I think with people like Holst, they talk a lot, but they don’t mean any of it,” she mused, scooting back to lean against the wall.

Chris frowned. People like Holst? Well… maybe she was right. Since they’d forged their tentative friendship, Holst had always seemed so far away. Pleasant and funny, charming, perfect--

But that genuine smile whenever he talked about Hilda, the gaunt shadows of his face when Chris woke him from a nap, the rage in his eyes when they fought earlier…

“I want…” Chris murmured. “I want him to talk to me. I want to get to know him. The real him, I mean.”

“All right,” Cassie said. “Then tell him that.”

That night, he and Cassie laid side by side, her curled up into an itty bitty ball, Chris staring up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep.

Every time he tried, he had this awful dream… standing on a river bank, watching the rapids rush past, so loud that he couldn’t hear a thing over them. And he’d look up and see Holst on the other side, smiling that real smile at him, that one that Chris wanted so badly to see more often. He held out his hand to Chris, but try as he might, Chris could find no way to cross the river. Desperate, he took a deep breath and dove in.

And drowned.

It kept him awake. He stared at the ceiling and thought about Holst. Was there really such an awful river between them? Would it really drown him if he tried to cross it?

Holst wasn’t so far away. Just down the hall. If Chris really wanted to tell him his feelings as Cassie suggested, all he had to do was march down the hall and do it. Knock on Holst’s door and plead to be let in.

But his hands were so empty.

Chris lifted them to study in the faint light of the moon through the window. He had long fingers--a pianist’s fingers, a mage’s fingers Hanneman had praised once. He could feel the barest heat of Holst’s skin on his fingertips.

So warm… The memory of it made Chris’s face burn with a blush he was glad Cassie was too busy sleeping to tease him for. He hadn’t noticed when his fear of touching started to fade around Holst. No, he couldn’t bear the thought of shaking his hand--holding it. Not for long… Not more than a moment. He knew he’d get weird about it, palms all sweaty, head dizzy and stomach sick.

But maybe… maybe Holst’s hands would be warm, like his heart thrumming under his fingertips. Maybe… it could even feel nice.

Chris closed his hands again, turning on his side away from Cassie. His whole face felt hot. How was he so embarrassed and worked up over the thought of just holding hands!

Well, it didn’t matter anyway. If he wanted to hold Holst’s hand, he’d have to offer his own first.

“Cassie?” Chris whispered.

“Mm, yeah?” Cassie mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. She always was a light sleeper. “What’s up? Nightmare?”

She sat up and looked down at him, but he buried his face in her pillow, avoiding her gaze. “Will you help me with something?” he asked, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Always.”

That made Chris smile. No matter what… he knew he could count on her. He turned his head to look up at her, forgetting his embarrassing blush and his nightmares. “I want to do something for Holst.”

* * *

The courtyard before the classrooms swarmed with students regardless of the time of day, but the early morning, just before classes started, was the busiest. Chris normally didn’t notice. He was early to class, early to leave, preferring to avoid the crowd. Crowds always made his skin crawl, even when he hid his hands inside his sleeves.

But that morning, Chris’s eyes zeroed in on two students that he knew from observation were Golden Deer--Holst’s classmates.

He held his books to his chest and took a deep breath. He and Cassie had spent the past two days coming up with the master plan, but the details made him so jittery. He’d have to ask Holst’s classmates for hints on what Holst would appreciate as a grand gesture--a task easier said than done. It wasn’t so long ago that he’d scolded Holst for seeking out information behind his back, but… these were extenuating circumstances, he supposed.

That was why he took a deep breath and walked straight up to the pair just before they could head for the Golden Deer classroom. A girl with long lavender hair and the short boy beside her turned from their conversation to face Chris, questioning. Chris felt his heart thudding in his chest. “U-um,” he stuttered, holding his books tight, knuckles white with the strength of his grip. “You’re in the Golden Deer right?”

The two looked at each other, the boy unimpressed, the girl with wide golden eyes. She turned those to him and smiled sweetly, combing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes, we are. Why do you ask?”

The boy rolled his dark eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, but Chris decided not to focus on him. If he did, he’d chicken out and run away and… well, so what if people thought him strange? He was helping his friend--that was what mattered.

He smiled gratefully at the girl instead. “I wanted to ask… d-do you know much about Holst?”

The girl blinked at him for a moment and then smiled warmly. The boy snorted. “Goddess, don’t tell me you’re interested in him?” he laughed. There was something raw and rude in his voice that nearly made Chris shrink back.

Around them, the courtyard had begun to empty. Most students had gone to their classes, and Chris fought the urge to glance over his shoulder and see if his class was already waiting for him. “I-it’s not like that--” he started.

But the girl interrupted him, smacking the boy hard on the shoulder. “Byron!” she chided. “Be kind, the Goddess is watching!”

Byron gasped at the smack, ruefully rubbing his shoulder. “What!” he muttered. “I was only going to warn him!” He looked Chris up and down before curling his lip. “You’re better off forgetting about him; there's not a sincere bone in his body.”

With that, he turned on a heel and headed into his classroom, leaving Chris and the lavender-haired girl alone in the courtyard. Chris curled his hands tighter around his book. He had half a mind to run away, as the wind blew, shaking the cherry trees, sending beautiful pink blossoms fluttering through the air around them.

But the girl smiled at him. Her smile was so sweet… Her golden eyes squinting, hands delicately clasped before her. When she tilted her head, it reminded Chris somehow of Ashe. He was always so polite and gentle…

“I’m afraid it would be better to ask Holst yourself,” she admitted. She lowered her hands and swept them down the front of her dress, brushing off petals. “Holst is rather… secretive, to say the least. To be honest with you, I don’t know if any of us know a thing about him, besides how much he adores his little sister.”

Loves his sister… Well, Chris already knew that. How helpful…

"Though, you might want to wait a bit for that!" she suddenly added, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "He's skipped class the last two days, and we think he's sick."

Chris must have looked alarmed because she gasped and waved her hands at him. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s all right! I’ve been bringing his classwork to his door, and it’s always gone by the next day, so he must be taking it in.”

Still, that didn’t make Chris feel much better. He’d known Holst was upset, but to skip class? That wasn’t at all like him… For all his laid-back attitude, Holst kept himself to a rigid schedule that even Chris--who loved routine--would have balked at. He scheduled every moment of his day, even his downtime, and he never wasted a second.

Chris bit his lip hard, thinking, hoping the girl before him couldn’t tell how much his heart ached just from the look on his face. He had to help Holst--and soon. He looked up and met her eyes with a determined nod. “Would… If it’s all right with you, would you mind terribly if I brought him his work tonight?”

The girl looked unsure, brows furrowed, but at length she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled. “You… have a pure and earnest heart,” she said. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, a glint to her gaze that seemed almost knowing. “The Goddess assures me so. I’ll be gathering his work between classes, if you’d like to join me.”

Chris couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he nodded. He wanted nothing more! “I’d love that,” he insisted.

She turned on a heel, heading towards her classroom, glancing over her shoulder. “Meet me here after your class ends,” she said and made to step inside--but she stopped once more and leaned back to see him. “Oh! And what may I call you?”

Chris laughed to himself. “Christophe. My name is Christophe.”

She smiled even more brightly, her eyes shining. “Ah, so _ you’re _ the one!” She giggled, hiding it behind her hand. “I’m Myra. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

* * *

Alois of the Knights of Seiros was a kind man who insisted on calling Chris “Tophe Guy,” when they were first introduced. He got a good laugh of it as Chris forced a polite smile, but when Myra gestured to him and said, “This is Holst’s friend,” his laughter abruptly stopped.

“Oh, now Holst, there’s a bright kid,” he exclaimed, clapping a hand on Chris’s shoulder nearly as hard as Cassie usually did. “Dreadful to hear how sick he is, do tell him I hope he feels better!”

Myra bowed her head in thanks as Alois dug in his podium for a fistful of papers. Chris wasn’t much of a brawler--he left all of that to those more capable than him, like Cassie--but even he could tell the information in this pack of papers was dense and complicated for a student of any caliber. The thought of Holst poring over it all, face gaunt with exhaustion, hands shaky and weak…

“He’s far too burnt out for this,” Chris whispered to himself, his voice soft and yet somehow just loud enough to interrupt Alois from regaling Myra with some tall tale.

They both turned to look at him, and Chris stared back, eyes wide with surprise. He hadn’t meant to be heard… But now Myra raised her brows at him and smiled reassuringly, as if encouraging him to say more.

He looked at Alois and said, “I-it’s just… he’s been working so hard and…” Chris gritted his teeth for bravery before bowing deeply. “Please, Sir Alois, if you’d be so kind, give him an extension on his work? He’s doing everything he can.”

He glanced up nervously, sure he’d made a fool of himself begging so boldly, but to his surprise, Alois had a quite gentle smile on his lips. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who noticed,” he admitted. He leaned conspiratorially closer to Chris and Myra, one hand at the side of his mouth as if he were about to tell them some gossipy secret. “I thought as his friends, you’d know best, but if you ask me, that boy works much too hard.”

Alois decidedly took the stack of papers from Myra’s hands, dug through them, and pulled out a single sheet which he handed delicately back. “This should be a bit of a breather. He can turn it in when he’s feeling better.” Alois winked. “Just don’t let anyone know I’m taking it easy on him.”

Chris was almost positive he’d never felt so elated in his life. He could have exploded with joy. He wanted to hug him, or Myra, or anyone! His grin couldn’t be contained, and he bounced on his toes delightedly. “Thank you! Stars, I cannot thank you enough, sir!”

Alois laughed at his excitement, playing it off as needless praise with a dismissive wave of his hand--but the smile on his face was kind. “Nothing to thank me for, Tophe Guy! You two head on to class now, all right?”

Chris and Myra waved goodbye as they hurried out of the classroom, Chris feeling lighter than air. “Goodness!” Myra giggled once they’d escaped Alois’s earshot. “You are quite fortunate.”

Chris looked at her, brows raised in question as they slowed to a walk down the courtyard. “Fortunate?” he asked.

Myra smiled knowingly, her golden eyes turned towards the sky. “The Goddess blessed you with the eyes of a puppy. I think you could ask anything of anyone and they’d be persuaded before long with those eyes.”

Chris felt a blush on his cheeks and looked away with a tiny frown. The Goddess had never blessed him with anything. And his eyes… no one had ever seemed particularly swayed by his gaze before. If Myra thought they held some power, maybe it was because only now did they glow with the passionate fire burning within them.

He nodded and clenched his fists at his sides, determined. “If it helps Holst, then I’ll learn to perfect that skill,” he said, assured by his declaration. He’d make every teacher in Garreg Mach pity his friend, do whatever it took to lighten his load.

He didn’t realize Myra was staring at him until she started to giggle. He looked at her, surprised. “What?”

She broke into a full on laugh, tossing her head back and wrapping her arms around her stomach. “If you perfect it, you might do more harm than good!” she cackled. “I’m quite sure our darling House Leader already has a hard time saying no to you!”

Chris blushed furiously bright. “What! That’s… that’s not what I meant!” But Myra only laughed louder, to his dismay. “Myra!”

* * *

Each teacher reacted much the same as Alois. They’d pull out a stack of classwork but, reminded of Holst’s work ethic and failing health, relented under Chris’s wide, teary-eyed gaze. “He’s a wonderful student,” they’d say, one by one. “Remind him to be gentle with himself.”

Chris wondered if Holst was gentle with… _ anything _ . As long as Chris had known him--admittedly not long--Holst had always been a bit of a brute. He attacked things head on, studied with such intensity and fought with even more. He never hesitated or faltered, always determined and never _gentle_.

But… Sometimes…

When Holst spoke of his home, of his sister, he got this dreamy faraway look on his face that seemed so very soft. Hilda wasn’t a very gentle girl from what Holst had told him--she was snarky and lazy and worryingly good with an axe for a ten year old. But Holst told Chris too how he tucked her in every night and kissed her forehead. How he held her on his shoulders and danced with her little hands wrapped up in his big ones.

And, well, though the thought made Chris blush, he had to admit Holst was… rather gentle with him too. He was always so careful not to push any boundaries, and when they spoke, no matter how long it took, he patiently awaited Chris’s shy response.

But Holst was never that way with himself. One too many times Chris had noticed him drumming his knuckles against his forehead as he studied or rubbing furiously at his eyes when the lids started to droop. Chris wondered if maybe he didn’t even know _ how _to be gentle with himself.

The thought lingered in his mind as he and Myra went around to all of Holst’s teachers, and even when they took a break to have lunch in the dining hall. He sat beside her, picking at his food and rolling the thoughts around his mind. Byron--the short, angry boy from earlier--had taken a seat across from them, and while he and Myra spoke, Chris thought and thought.

What if… no one had ever been gentle with Holst? Chris considered himself lucky to have been born in such a loving family. His father always wanted what was best for him, even to the point of sending him to the Officer’s Academy alongside such prestigious nobility. And his mother… oh his mother had always been gentle…

Chris didn’t know much about Holst’s parents. Holst didn’t seem keen to talk about them, for some reason Chris was not yet privy to. Maybe… that was the very reason why Chris didn’t know yet. Maybe they hadn’t been gentle with him, and that was why Holst seemed to hold everyone around him at arm’s length…

“Chris!”

He jolted from his thoughts and whipped around to see Cassie rushing up to him, a huge grin on her face. At first, her eyes were trained completely on him, and then suddenly she noticed the people sitting beside him. For a brief moment, she seemed terribly confused, but she smiled brightly before long. She scurried up to the table and smooshed into a seat beside Byron, who seemed less than enthused.

“Who are your new friends?” she asked, winking at Myra who blushed and giggled.

Chris smiled shyly. “W-well, this is Myra,” he introduced. He gestured to Byron. “And this is--”

“Byron,” he interrupted. “More of an acquaintance." He met Cassie’s sturdy handshake with a glint in his eye. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Myra leaned towards Chris. “Byron likes people who wear their heart on their sleeve,” she explained.

Byron rolled his eyes. “Life’s too short for dishonesty. It sickens me.”

“He also always talks like that.”

Byron pointed his knife at her menacingly before cutting into his meat. Myra just laughed at him. Chris, meanwhile, leaned towards Cassie, hopeful. “Did you complete your task?”

Cassie grinned, reaching into the pouch at her side. Singing an excited little tune (decidedly offkey), she pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. “Tada!”

Chris practically snatched it from her, but she just laughed at his enthusiasm. “All there,” she assured as he unfolded it. “Took a bit of schmoozing, but Manuela was happy to write a sick note for her favorite student.”

Chris barely heard her or the smug tone of her voice, too busy grinning as his eyes scanned the letter in his hands.

_ To whoever it concerns, _

_ Holst Goneril is simply too sick to attend class today! If you have any complaints, don’t come whining to me! _

_ Manuela~ _

Chris hugged the letter close. This was perfect! Now if Holst needed it, he could take the day off without any trouble. The letter, as unprofessionally written as it was, bore Manuela’s unmistakable signature.

“Aw, Chrissy, don’t cry…”

“Chrissy?”

“Chrissy! How cute!”

Chris wiped at his teary eyes, pouting playfully at Cassie, who only stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m not crying,” he insisted.

But Myra didn’t seem to care about all that. She leaned across the table towards Cassie. “Truly, you must tell me about this Chrissy nickname!”

Chris groaned and hid his face in his hands. He already knew Cassie’s face lit up each time she told the tale.

“I’ve known Chrissy here since he was a baby!” she laughed. “When he was five or so, he had this cute little habit of ending every word with a y. Fishy, horsey, flowey--Cassie--”

“Cassandra,” Chris whined.

“So I said it back to him!” she continued, blissfully unaware of his burning red face. “You wouldn’t believe the look on his face the first time I called him Chrissy!” Cassie’s laugh was so loud it made Chris hunch his shoulders in an attempt to hide. “I guess it just stuck after that.”

Even Byron managed to crack a smile. Cassie’s enthusiasm was contagious. Myra sounded endlessly pleased as she said, “Oh, you two must be siblings!”

Chris looked up at Cassie, whose smile had turned small. He felt the urge to touch her. Lay a comforting hand on her arm. “Cousins,” she corrected. “I have lots of siblings, but Chris is just my cousin.”

Chris lowered his hands from his face. Cassie loved all of her siblings dearly, but who in Faerghus hadn’t heard the gossip surrounding the Charon household? The only reason she had so many siblings was to ensure one would be born with a Crest, and it worked. Cassie was the youngest but she was the only with a major Crest, and it had long been decided she’d be the one who would one day take over the family. There was… tension there, to say the least.

Beside him, Myra nodded sagely, as if she knew all of those gritty details without either of them having to say a word. Byron stared at the table, hard enough that Chris was surprised it didn’t snap under the weight of his gaze. “Well, if you ask me,” he said suddenly, something gentle in the darkness of his eyes, “Blood isn’t what really makes a family anyway.”

Cassie laughed loud and slapped Byron so hard on the back that he started to cough. “Couldn’t have said it better myself!”

* * *

“Christophe!” Professor Hanneman exclaimed the moment he and Myra stepped up to his open office door.

He wasted no time in gesturing them in, and Chris took his usual place standing beside his surprisingly neat bookcase. Each text was clean and well-taken care of, arranged by date of publication. Vials of Crest-blood lined the shelves empty of books, organized by Crest and age, and his chalkboard across the room was nearly white from the dust built up over the years. In the center of the room was a magical diagram that Chris recognized as a modified identification circle.

Chris thought he and Hanneman were rather close, considering it’d only been a few months since they first met. Hanneman had taken a shine to Chris almost immediately, insisting he had a knack for spotting talented mages a mile away, even though Chris had never considered himself one before.

But well, for all his good, Chris didn’t care much for Hanneman’s obsession with Crests. He stayed far away from the circle.

“We’re here to pick up Holst Goneril’s classwork for the day,” Myra explained.

Chris smiled in agreement, but his face fell when--instead of eagerly handing them a textbook or stack of notes--Hanneman merely sighed and took a seat at his desk. “Ah yes, Mr. Goneril. Sick again, I’m sure?”

Myra frowned just like Chris, but there was a resigned tilt to it that told Chris she’d heard this spiel before. “U-unfortunately so, Professor, he’s--”

“You might tell him he’s missing valuable information each time he misses class,” Hanneman scolded, giving them each a meaningful look. Once he was satisfied by their cowed expressions, he leaned back and relented, “He has no classwork save his project due tomorrow, at the beginning of class.”

Chris knew exactly the project he meant. He’d finished his days ago, a study of magical diagrams, complete with a functioning modification to one of the three common forms. Even for someone with a knack for reason like Chris, it hadn’t been easy. He suddenly remembered how Holst froze up when he saw him use that fire spell… The memory of his stricken face made Chris’s eyes burn with tears. Holst… He was in no state to finish a project like that so quickly.

“Professor,” Chris said, taking a step towards him and clasping his hands together. He looked at Hanneman from beneath his lashes, the way Myra had taught him earlier. They'd spoken to every other one of Holst's teachers by this point, and he was sure he’d gotten his technique down pat. “I know it’s short notice, but--”

Hanneman raised his hand abruptly to stop Chris in his tracks, rubbing his temple with the other. “Spare me the sob story, Mr. Gaspard, I assure you I’ve heard it all before.” He lowered his hand, frowning deeply at Chris. “I give everyone the same workload, and it is the student’s responsibility to use their time wisely. If Mr. Goneril is unable to keep up, he can come to me--”

“But he won’t,” Chris insisted and nearly slapped his hand over his mouth in surprise. He hadn’t meant to say anything, and the dark look Hanneman gave him reminded him too late just how much he hated to be interrupted. But… but he kept going anyway. He took another step towards him, hand on his chest as if keeping it from beating out of his chest with passion. “Holst will never admit he has a problem. He works too hard for that--”

“He has missed a number of assignments--”

“Because he’s falling apart!”

Chris shut his mouth tight at that. That was a bold declaration--truth be told, he had no idea what Holst was going through. Was it really so bad as that? But no… Chris could see the tremble at his edges. He could see the pain in his eyes, that night when they’d sparred. Whatever he felt, Chris knew it was bad and that he wouldn’t tell anyone if he could take it to his grave.

No one knew what Holst was going through. But Chris had an idea, and he refused to allow him to carry that burden alone. He simply refused!

“Professor, please,” Chris pleaded. He debated getting on his knees. “Extend the project for a few days. I’ll ensure he turns it in on time, if I have to force his hand to paper!”

The entire office fell silent, Hanneman staring at Chris for a long time, eyes completely unreadable. Chris’s heart pounded in his throat. What if he’d just made things worse?

But then Hanneman leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “I will extend the project for one week, but I’d like Mr. Goneril to visit my office and speak with me when he turns it in.” He pointed at Chris, eyebrows raised. “I’m trusting you to ensure that he finishes it.”

Chris grinned at him, eyes welling up with tears. “I assure you, Professor, you will not regret it.”

* * *

Chris hadn’t actually planned to be the one bringing Holst his classwork. He and Cassie had brainstormed for days, expecting to end up with a sick note and a gift, but… he was glad the details had changed. He’d convinced all of Holst’s teachers to lighten his workload. Myra--and begrudgingly Byron--had managed to get all of the Golden Deer to sign a get well soon letter for their beloved House Leader. And Cassie had even gotten the sick note after all! Now Chris only needed to knock on Holst’s door and offer his hand.

The river between them wasn’t so rapid now, wasn’t so scary… But he still felt that this bridge he was building was shaky somehow. He couldn’t face Holst yet, the thought of it paralyzed him. He couldn’t stop shaking, pacing, heart pounding against his ribs. “Something’s missing… I need something more,” he kept saying, arms wrapped around his stomach as his pacing ruined Cassie’s carpet.

At some point, Cassie was fed up with it. She stood up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “What you _ need _ is to stop thinking so hard about it!” she insisted, and that night dragged him to the market just outside of Garreg Mach.

Even late at night, the hustle and bustle of the marketplace was as lively as ever--and it only made things worse. The blinding lights, the pulsing sounds, the push and shove of bodies around them… it only served to make Chris’s head ache. He felt sure he’d throw up, or even worse, be lost to the crowd. He held tight to the back of Cassie’s coat, struggling to keep his head above water.

Cassie seemed blissfully unaware, leading him through and around the crowd, waving hello to people Chris had never met before. Where were they even going? He wanted to go home…

He tugged at her coat pleadingly, but she only glanced over her shoulder at him with what she clearly hoped was a reassuring grin. “Hey, so that Myra girl is pretty cute, right?” Cassie practically shouted, necessary to be heard over the crowd.

Chris huddled closer to her back. He wished he weren’t too scared to hold her hand. Maybe he could bear to grab her wrist? He ended up hooking their elbows together. “She’s… not really your type,” he admitted.

Her face didn’t fall, but it did seem to change somehow. Something in the creases at the corners of her eyes. “Yeah, I guess she’s more your friend anyway…”

Chris blinked at her in surprise. That… that wasn’t at all what he’d meant. He opened his mouth to correct her--to explain that Myra was simply too devoted to the Goddess for someone as reckless and irreverent as Cassie to be happy with--but he didn’t get a chance to say a word. Cassie shouted, “Oh, look!” and dragged him in a beeline through the crowd to a tent where a woman with red hair hawked her wares.

It was an eclectic collection to say the least, but at least there weren’t many takers. The atmosphere inside the tent was mellow enough for Chris to take a deep, much needed breath. In one corner of the shop, there was an array of weaponry, clearly specialized for more adept wielders than students like him and Cassie. In another corner, Chris found a collection of beautifully carved seals and gorgeous, vibrant red sealing wax. In yet another corner, gifts and goods ranging anywhere from teddy bears to board games caught his eye.

Cassie pulled him towards the weapons, naturally. He let her go, looking around while she gawked at the fine silver and wood. “What is this place?” he muttered to himself, turning in a circle to study his surroundings.

“Welcome to Anna’s!”

Chris whipped around to the redheaded shopkeep. She was unassuming despite her bright hair, her face small and round, but her eyes hid the slyness Chris expected from a shopkeep in a marketplace as raucous as this. She grinned wide and waved at him. “We’ve got anything you need, young man!” She crossed one arm over her chest and tapped her chin with the other hand. “And you look like you're in need of… a gift?” She winked. “Special someone?”

Chris felt his face burn red and looked hurriedly away. “U-um… a friend, I guess.”

The woman--he assumed the eponymous Anna--gestured around with another sly grin. “Then you’ve come to the right place! What’s your friend interested in? What do they like?”

Chris bit his lip hard, glancing at Cassie who seemed far too enthralled with a glowing, lightning bolt shaped sword. He looked at Anna again, frowning deeply. He’d never been very good with bartering and whatnot… He could already tell he was about to be horribly swindled.

But…

“He likes… the color pink.” Stars, how sad that that was the only thing Chris remembered vividly about Holst’s preferences?

“Pink, huh?” Anna hummed, tapping her chin again as she turned about the tent. “Well, I’ve got pink wax, pink toys, pink--oh!” She turned to him again, a twinkle in her eye. “Come with me.”

She didn’t wait for him to follow, and for a moment, Chris wasn’t sure he should. He glanced back at Cassie, who was thoroughly distracted, and then at Anna’s retreating form. Stars…

He scurried to follow her out of the tent and around back, into a dark alley where the awning of the tent extended out to cover a pile of crates. Away from the loud market and the bright light, Chris found it easier to breathe--even if the alley gave him the creeps. It smelled awful back there, and so damp and cold… Spring was turning into summer and yet the cool night air sent shivers down his spine.

He crossed his arms around himself as Anna dug through her crates until she found one with a strange marking across the front--letters or words from a language Chris didn’t know. “Have you ever heard of sakurayu?” she asked, looking back at Chris as she cracked it open. Chris shook his head slowly, rubbing his arms. “Well, it’s a traditional herbal tea from Dagda. Steaming water and…” She pulled out a small tin from within, one painted over top with a dazzling vision of cherry blossom trees. “These.”

When she popped open the tin, the scent of vinegar overwhelmed the damp sludgey scent of the alley, underlined by a velvety sweetness. Anna lifted the tin to him. “These are preserved cherry blossoms.”

Chris took the tin handed to him, peering at the dried, dark pink buds inside. “Boil some water for a cup and drop one or two buds in there. They spread out real pretty _ and _ pink! Little salty, but perfect for a cool night.”

Chris hesitantly took one of the buds, twirling it. It felt soft and a little squishy. He could already imagine the petals in the water, like the folds of a lovely dress. He’d have to choose a nice simple tea set to compliment them but…

He frowned. He had a feeling his puppy eyes wouldn’t do him any good with a shopkeep as discerning as Anna. He glanced up at her, already dreading the answer. “Um… how much are they?”

Anna grinned.

* * *

Chris hoped Holst would be happy. He meant that in an annoyed way (goodbye allowance for the moon!) but also sincerely. The moon was high in the sky by the time he and Cassie had figured out how to brew the sakurayu just right, but he was still shaky and unsure. He tucked the classwork and letter under one arm, set the white tea set atop a tray along with the tin of cherry blossoms, and looked at the stars outside of Cassie’s window.

He’d never been much for praying, even before his mother died. The Goddess never seemed keen to listen to his pleas, but the stars at least twinkled at every word. So he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the glass and prayed that the river between them wasn’t so wide he couldn’t extend his hand across it.

He prayed to the stars that he’d be able to make Holst smile--his real smile, genuine, the one he only seemed to save for when he talked about his beloved sister, or when he asked Chris about his own siblings.

Cassie urged him on the moment he stepped out of her room, her hands on his ass shoving him down the hall. She only waved when he frowned at her over his shoulder.

He walked very slowly down the hall. It was so empty and dark and still, not a sound but his own shaky breathing and creaky footsteps. His mind raced in an attempt to fill the silence. It was so very late, he had class in the morning, he should really just go to bed at this point. This late at night, Chris feared Holst was fast asleep. He needed his rest… He didn’t want to disturb him…

Oh he really shouldn’t disturb Holst’s sleep. He stood straight, frozen in the middle of the hall, but when he made to turn around, he found Cassie still leaning out of her room, brows raised in challenge. He tried to swallow back a whine. She wouldn’t let him chicken out of this plan if she had to wrestle him down the hall herself, he knew.

So he took a deep breath, furrowed his brow, and marched back down the hall. He was a man on a mission! He could do this! Maybe Chris wasn’t particularly handsome or smart or strong like Holst, but if he had anything going for him, it was his stubbornness. He had never been the type to give up, taking his failures with a grain of salt. And this… he couldn’t give up before he’d even started. He refused!

He stood outside of Holst’s bedroom, his whole body trembling, tea set clattering in his hands. What if… What if Holst… really did hate him? What if Cassie was wrong?

What if Chris was the last person he wanted to see?

Chris gritted his teeth. No, no… he couldn’t know that for sure. He couldn’t put words in Holst’s mouth. Cassie was right about that.

He shifted the tray in his grasp, freeing up one hand to knock once… twice… three times at Holst’s bedroom door. And then he waited patiently for Holst’s response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late update, maybe I'll make it biweekly instead of weekly atraegerg BUT. I like this update a lot ; u ; Sorry about all the OC business, but they're necessary, I swear! XD I'm really, really excited for the next chapter though, I think it'll be a bit of a turning point!
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave a kudos or a comment!
> 
> Oh and! Someone drew fanart of my designs for the boys! https://twitter.com/Ubebetime/status/1206080827299221504?s=20 Be sure to give them lots of love, they're so cute!


	6. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But if Holst showed him what he was really like, underneath all of the gold... Would he like what he saw?

Holst wasn’t sure what day it was. He’d been holed up in his room, reading his reason textbooks cover to cover, starting and restarting and restarting his project, barely closing his eyes. The curtains were drawn, leaving his room only to candlelight, and all the minutes and hours bled into each other. It felt like no time passed at all. The mess piling up around his room was the only evidence that it still crawled along.

Then the knock at his door.

It cut through the strident voice in his head telling him to work, work, _ work _\--

It was a tentative knock, one, two, three, and Holst turned towards the sound. He stared for a long time, unblinking, unsure if he'd just imagined it. He slowly pulled himself out of his desk chair and trailed over to the door, picking through the mess on the floor. Crumpled notes, broken pencils, textbooks thrown haphazardly half open across the yellow carpet.

There had been knocking before, but whenever Holst worked up the energy to open the door, the hall was empty save a new pile of classwork to distract him from his project--a distraction he took eagerly, despite his better judgement.

This time, there was no pile of classwork. When he pulled the door open a crack, staring into the darkness of the hall, he found deep blue eyes looking up at him. Pleading.

“Chris,” he mumbled, his voice crackling, wheezy from disuse.

Chris looked so concerned, brows furrowed, eyes watery, pretty lips twisted into a frown that filled his face. “Holst,” he breathed. “You look _ exhausted _.”

Did he? He didn’t feel tired. He felt feverish. He needed to move, needed to work, and he felt it behind his eyes, in every muscle. He started to close the door, saying, “I’m fin--”

The door stopped short, followed by a little whimper of pain. He looked down to see Chris had shoved his knee between the door and the frame. “Don’t tell me you’re fine,” he insisted. Chris looked up to his face, his eyes pinched from pain but more so from determination. “Don’t lie to me, Holst. Please.”

Holst blinked at Chris and then looked at him, really looked at him. He was disheveled and nervous, his shaking hands holding up a clattering tea set on a tray. His lower lip trembled too, as if he were fighting the urge to cry.

The sight of him ached in Holst’s chest.

“Please,” Chris whispered. “Will you let me in?” He ducked his head a bit, looked up through his lashes, somehow making his sad, wet eyes even sadder. “I want to talk.”

Holst didn’t know how to refuse him. Swallowing at the lump in his throat to no avail, he leaned back and gestured Chris inside.

Chris walked tentatively over the threshold, looking around with those shiny, concerned eyes. He seemed shocked by the mess. Holst suddenly felt self-conscious. No one was… no one was supposed to know he was messy like this, it was a secret, it was…

He looked around frantically for a moment, but he didn’t know where to begin cleaning. The pencils… they were splintered in the carpet, dark graphite staining the yellow. The papers were crumpled beyond recognition, the half-hearted notes illegible. His breathing turned wheezy--

But then Chris’s voice. “I talked to your teachers.”

Holst looked at him again. He’d placed the tea set down on the only clean section of his desk, and now he was only holding a stack of papers--a thin stack, barely the width of Holst’s thumb. “Your homework,” he said, tentatively holding it out to him.

Holst stared at it, not quite comprehending. The sheer quantity of his last pile dwarfed this one, and it… this just didn’t look right. “I have… five classes,” he said numbly.

Chris smiled, so small and sweet. Pretty. Holst hadn’t seen anything pretty in days. His knees wobbled, and he sank onto the edge of his bed.

“I convinced them to cut you some slack,” Chris explained, delicately trailing over to Holst’s bed and standing at his side. “Everyone is worried about you, Holst.”

Holst shook his head. “There’s…” He forced a smile. “There’s nothing--”

“Holst.”

He looked up again, met Chris’s knowing eyes. Those eyes looked right through him. He felt so vulnerable, exposed. He didn’t know if he liked it or not.

Chris pulled his sleeves over his palms, biting his lip. “I know… we haven’t been friends for very long, but I care about you, and I want you to know--I want you to… be honest with me. Don’t lie to me anymore. Please?”

Be honest? Chris didn’t know what he was asking for. Holst pulled his knees up to his chest. All his flirting and fake smiles, his carefree attitude, they were _ necessary _.

Chris wouldn’t like the real him underneath. Nobody would. He was messy and stupid and rude and _ flawed _. He wasn’t the charming prodigy he told everyone he was.

He was just Holst.

The bed sank at his side, and he felt the warmth of Chris’s thigh beside his own. He curled up tighter and looked away. “I got you a gift. Will you look?” Chris whispered.

Holst knew his eyes were swimming with tears. Why did Chris care anyway? After the way he’d treated him…

“I spent my entire allowance on this stuff, so you had better like it.”

Despite himself, Holst smiled at the haughty tone of Chris’s voice. “Didn’t…” He let out a deep, shaky breath and looked at Chris. “I didn’t take you for a penny pincher.”

Chris smiled that beautiful smile, so easy and kind that it ached to look at head on. Holst looked everywhere else instead. His soft hair; his pale, barely there freckles. “Not usually,” Chris admitted. “I’d spend it again, for you.”

Holst finally looked down, to the steaming teacup in Chris’s pale hands.

The cup was simple, pure porcelain white, and holding clear water with two pink cherry blossoms blooming in the center. Holst stared at it in surprise and then looked up at Chris’s eager expression. “It’s…” He reached out and let Chris lay the cup in his hands. The flowers seemed to dance, like a ruffle of fabric, delicate, and bright beautiful pink. “Do I drink this?”

Chris giggled, leaning back from him. “You do. It’s supposed to be healing… I remembered pink is your favorite.”

Holst swirled his drink, watching the flowers ripple with the movement. “Kind of hard to forget,” he mumbled.

“I find it hard to forget anything about you, Holst,” Chris admitted. Holst looked up to see a pleasant blush on his face. “You just haven’t given me much to remember.”

Holst looked away again, focusing on his drink instead. The flowers were mesmerizing. He took a tentative sip instead of answering, and made a face. “I don’t know why I expected it to taste like cherries,” he muttered.

Chris laughed. “Does it taste bad?”

Holst took another sip and rolled it around his mouth. “Very floral. Kind of… plummy?”

Chris hummed. “Well, as long as you like it.”

Silence fell between them, Holst taking sips every now and then, the voice in his head actually… quiet. As if the warmth of the tea and Chris’s soothing presence had lulled it to sleep.

He couldn’t sleep though. Even without the voice, he had so much to think about. He’d probably missed a day of class--maybe two. He’d have to do makeup work and meet with his teachers. Had he missed Sunday training? The class would have to work overtime to make up for it--make up for his own failings, _ fuck _, what was wrong with him?

“Holst, I… You know this isn’t healthy right?”

Holst jolted at the sound of Chris’s voice. As soft and lyrical as ever… but now, he gazed about Holst’s room like he was on the verge of tears. He always looked… a little mopey, but this was beyond that.

Why did he care what was healthy for Holst or not?

Why did he care about Holst at all?

Goddess, Holst wasn’t a fucking moron, he knew it wasn’t healthy, but what else could he do?

“Oh Holst…” He felt Chris scoot closer, his warmth washing over Holst like the pink sunset waves of the Almyran sea. “Don’t cry…”

He hadn’t realized he was. The tears were so heavy, they dragged his head down. He buried his face in his knees and let them come. He couldn’t even summon the energy to tell Chris to leave--and when Chris’s hand tentatively laid to rest between his shoulder blades, he didn’t want to.

A lump in his throat crawled out in a sob, and he nearly dropped the cup in his hands if not for Chris delicately taking it from his grasp and laying it on his night table. “Is a hug okay?” Chris asked.

Holst choked on another sob and looked up at Chris. He was so blurry through tears, but even then he was beautiful. A piece of a star. Deep down, Holst had always thought that was pretty bullshit. Why would the stars want to walk around the human world? Humans sucked.

Yet there Chris was. Beautiful, star-like, touch-averse Christophe Gaspard, asking if Holst was okay with being hugged.

“Is it?” Holst croaked.

Chris smiled. “Yes.”

Holst threw his arms around Christophe, knocking him back onto the bed, his thin arms going around Holst’s neck in return. They hit the mattress with an oof, and Holst’s face landed on the pillow next to Chris’s head. Their chests pressed together this way, Holst could feel how Chris’s heart pounded against his ribs. His hands trembled on Holst’s shoulder blades, so nervous…

But then his arms wrapped around him tighter. And he tugged his legs up onto the bed beside Hoslt’s hip. Holst held him tighter in return, memorizing the shape of him, from his thin waist to his curly hair against his cheek.

“I… I’m not perfect,” Holst breathed. The words hurt so much to admit out loud. The one thing he’d always known to be true about himself, the one thing he’d always fought so hard to hide. Hanging now in the air between them, wherever it could fit.

Chris hummed, and Holst felt it reverberate all through him--he felt it in his ribs, against his heart. “Holst… no one is.”

Holst gritted his teeth. He didn’t get it, of course he didn’t. “Chris, I have to be--”

“Why?”

Holst felt the tears well up, and he turned his face away from Chris, staring at the wall. “When I fuck up, I disappoint everyone. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand letting them down. The look on their face, I--”

“Holst, breathe,” Chris’s hand stroked lightly at his back. So, so gentle. “You won’t disappoint anyone--”

“Don’t bullshit me, Chris--”

“You won’t disappoint _ me _.”

His voice was so firm. So sure. Holst lifted his head to look down at him, his mouth going dry at the determination glittering in his eyes. Like when they fought, but more powerful somehow. As if he were making Holst a promise.

“What if I--”

“Nothing,” Chris whispered. His voice was so soft, yet Holst felt like he would have heard it miles away. “You could murder someone in cold blood and--stars, Holst--I’d give you the benefit of the doubt.” Chris squeezed him closer. Their foreheads touched. How was Chris not blinded by the glow of his Crest? “You’re my friend.”

Suddenly, holding Chris this close and studying his gaze, Holst truly wondered if that was all he wanted. The playful flirting, that instant attraction… it was different than this. It paled in comparison.

This ached.

“Holst?” Chris asked.

Holst tugged him and rolled them so they were both lying on their sides, legs tangled together. Chris’s yelp actually made him smile. He pressed his face against Chris’s shoulder. He smelled even more like flowers there. Like violets. Holst had only smelled them once or twice before, but they were sweet.

“Holst,” Chris murmured again.

“Yes?”

“Does it always get this bad?”

Holst closed his eyes. The last time… the last time he fell apart this way… He could remember locking himself in his room for hours, days. No servant dared to knock on his door. His parents didn’t seem to care. And Hilda… “Sometimes,” he whispered.

“How do you usually get better?” Chris asked, stroking his back again. Holst suddenly understood why cats purred. “This is… you’ve overworked yourself, haven’t you?”

Holst didn’t nod or shake his head. It wasn’t really a question, was it? “I have a lot of work to do,” he said.

Chris hummed again. “But you have to rest sometimes. You can’t just push through it. You have to find something that helps--”

“Sex,” Holst muttered. He felt Chris tense. Suddenly, he felt ashamed.

“Oh.” Chris’s voice was so quiet. “Oh, Holst…”

Chris pulled him even closer and tighter, and Holst buried his face in his chest. He wanted to explain himself, wanted to tell Chris that there wasn’t anything wrong with it, that it was just for fun and no one got hurt--but the words stuck fast in his throat. He held Chris even harder against him.

“Haven’t in a while,” he choked. “But I… I don’t… it’s easier than…” His voice broke, so he just shook his head.

Well, now what did Chris think of him? Confident prodigy Holst Goneril reduced to tears and trembling and baring his ugly, sluggish heart. Like a gift wrapped in gold, a rotting apple core within.

But Chris was so golden. All the way through. “H… how do you…?”

Chris tucked his head against the crook of Holst’s neck. “Everyone handles things differently, Holst… What works for me--”

“Has got to be better than this.”

Chris went silent at that. Holst felt the steady thrum of his heart. The breeze of his breath between his collar and skin.

Then he leaned back. Holst scrambled to hold his tighter, afraid to let him go, but Chris put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I won’t leave.”

Holst watched him pull away, just enough to reach up and unlace the collar of his jacket. Holst watched him unbutton his clothes, just down to his collar. “My mother… W-when I was…” Chris swallowed hard as he reached into his shirt. Holst watched the bob of his throat. “When I was young, she gave me this.”

Chris pulled out a necklace, surprisingly plain, with a thick black cord and a pale pink and white polished stone heavy at the end. On the surface, there was a light carving of a woman’s profile. Holst could just discern the outline of heavy curls, a refined nose, a smile.

Chris rubbed his thumb over the surface. “An evil-repelling amulet, she called it. Whenever she had to go away, I’d get so scared and… lonely. My father, he’s so busy, you see, so I… I’d get so scared that when she was gone, monsters would get me. So she gave me this amulet, and she’d sing me to sleep.”

Chris stared unblinking down at it. Holst remembered what Cass had told him, so long ago now. Chris’s mother had passed away years ago. He never spoke about her, never.

Holst couldn’t imagine how much it hurt. He’d never lost anyone.

“Sometimes, I sing it,” Christophe murmured. “It helps me breathe.”

“Will you sing it to me?”

Holst snapped his mouth shut as soon as the words left him. Ugh, what was wrong with him? This was something sacred to Chris, something his mother left him--maybe the only thing, for all Holst knew. What right did he have to ask Chris to share that with him?

“Forget--”

“Close your eyes.”

Holst looked up and met Chris’s gentle, gentle gaze. “Huh?”

Chris smiled. “It’s late, Holst. Close your eyes. Let me sing you to sleep.”

Holst realized just how desperately he wanted that. How long had it been since last he slept?

He nodded and let Chris guide him, so his cheek rested against Chris’s chest. He closed his eyes. Chris began to sing.

“Over the Oghma Mountains,” he sang, his voice velvet as petals, sweet as cream. “The sun lays down to sleep. She rubs her eyes… and sings goodnight… and the moon takes over keep.”

Holst felt so heavy. Chris’s voice was as beautiful as the rest of him. Curling soft as his hair in the air around them. Chris’s hand stroke his back again, slow… slow…

“Over the Oghma Mountains,” he sang. “The moon takes over keep. She sings her song of night so long, it lulls the stars to sleep.”

His voice hummed on, on… The dark night felt warm instead of cold. Holst, even at the southernmost tip of Alliance territory, had never experienced a darkness so warm. He’d never known a darkness so sweet.

* * *

“Holst!” Myra shouted, running full speed across the classroom and into his arms.

Holst laughed as he picked her up and spun her around. “Myra!” he exclaimed. “Long time, no see!”

“I’d say!” someone else laughed.

“You’re telling me!”

As he set Myra down, the rest of the Golden Deer surrounded Holst, patting his back or rushing in for a hug. “We missed you so much!”

“Thank the Goddess you’re all right!”

“Did you get our letter?”

Holst smiled, putting his arm around Myra’s shoulders and grinning at the rest of the class. “Yeah, I got it.”

That morning, Chris read it to him as he helped clean. Every name and every message, wishing him well, hoping for his illness to pass. Maybe none of his classmates understood just what had happened--just what was wrong--but hearing that so many people missed him made it just a bit less terrifying to go to class.

He blinked back what felt like tears as he looked around the classroom, his smile slowly turning small. “Everyone… I need to apologize.” A hush fell over the crowd, everyone looking at him with wide, attentive eyes as he continued. “I shouldn’t have disappeared like that… Because of me, I know we’re all behind on our training and--”

“Oh shut up,” a familiar voice muttered from the back of the classroom.

Everyone whipped around to the source, Byron leaning back in his chair, feet up on the desk and arms crossed over his chest. Myra beside Holst pouted and opened her mouth to say something, but Byron let his feet down, the loud pop of the chair legs hitting the floor again interrupting her. “You gonna go on about failing us as our precious House Leader?” Byron asked. He rose to his feet, walking through the crowd and up to Holst, poking him in his chest with one firm finger. “Save it. Maybe you should just try taking better care of yourself.”

Holst stared at him, mouth open in surprise, but when someone in the class said, “Come on, By, give him a break--” he shook his head.

“No,” he said, raising his hand to hush them. He smiled at Byron, and maybe it wasn’t so surprising when Byron smiled back. “He’s right.” He looked up around the class again. “No excuses. I let myself get sick because I wasn’t taking care of myself. I won’t let that happen again.”

The rest of the class seemed surprised by his confession, as if they’d expected his illness a mere trick of fate. Some part of him wanted them to think that was the case. Wanted them to believe only the Goddess herself could decide when he was incapacitated. But he knew that wasn’t true.

He let go of Myra and put his foot up on one of the tables. He pushed himself on top of it, put his hands on his hips. “I wasn’t sick. I was tired. And I’m not going to let myself get that bad again.” He gestured across the classroom. “I’m still going to be the best House Leader this school has ever seen! We may have lost the mock battle, but the Battle of the Eagle and Lion will be ours!”

He raised his fist to the sky. “I won’t let any of you down! We’ll win this together! Who’s with me?”

Byron crossed his arms and smiled a sardonic little smile. Myra laughed bright and clear, clapping her hands together. And the rest of the class cheered so loud that Holst swore he felt the vibration of the air.

Until Professor Hanneman stepped into the classroom and let out a deep sigh. “Mr. Goneril. A pleasure to have you back in class. Now did your illness turn you allergic to the floor?”

“Ah, s-sorry, Professor!” Holst exclaimed. He scrambled off the table, but he couldn’t hide the grin on his face.

* * *

“Are you ready to learn magic, Mr. Holst Goneril?” Christophe asked that night, standing in the doorway of his room just like the night before, with a handful of chalk and eyes bright and determined.

The day had been long and tiring. Catching up, struggling to understand how far he’d fallen behind. But it had been… okay. His classmates, remembering his speech, were more than happy to help, asking questions constantly as if they knew how humiliated Holst felt when he had to do it himself. He felt buoyed by their kindness--buoyed by the good night’s sleep he’d gotten the night before, curled up, cradled in Christophe’s arms, lulled to rest like the stars in his lullaby.

A long and tiring day, but seeing Chris standing there, grin on his face, Holst could only grin back and gesture to let him inside.

“When’s the due date?” he asked, pulling up a second chair to his desk and letting Chris settle into it.

Chris hummed, spreading out the supplies he’d brought. Chalk and parchment and an armful of textbooks. “I got him to extend the date a week.”

Holst paused on his way to the tea set Chris had left in his room, water already boiling for a drink. He turned his head to stare at Chris. “You got _ Professor Hanneman _ to extend the due date?”

Chris looked at him too, eyebrows innocently raised into his bangs. “What?” He smirked. “Like it’s hard?”

Holst snorted a laugh, going back to brewing their tea, and Chris started to laugh too. “You are a little fox, Chris,” Holst accused.

“All I had to do was whine about how much I care about you,” he sang--really sang, his voice unbearably pretty. He took the cup of tea when it was offered to him, smiling at Holst through the steam rising from the porcelain cup. “Well… I also have to make sure you get this project done on time so…” He gestured to the seat across from him. “Let’s get to work.”

And when Christophe smiled like that, with those pretty eyes, Holst had a hard time saying no.

* * *

“So if I…” Holst squinted at the diagram Chris had drawn, each line carefully labeled, and then looked at the cheat sheet he’d compiled. “This line is…”

Chris waited with a cute little smile, chin in his hand, textbook curled to his chest. They sat cross legged across from each other, and even though they’d been there for hours, Holst didn’t feel tired yet.

He looked at the chalk diagram on the floor. It wasn’t finished yet--wasn’t anywhere near finished, and it didn’t have the perfect steady lines of Chris’s example. Even so, Holst had done it himself, and he was proud.

Well, frustrated mostly, but proud.

He turned the page to Chris. “This symbol, that means open, but I have to draw it last or…” He made an exploding noise and popped his fist open. “Seteth kills us for blowing up the dorms.”

Chris laughed, leaning back. “Very good! What do we do to ensure that doesn’t happen?”

Holst bit the corner of his lip and flipped the paper towards himself again. “Finish the circle?”

“Yes, but why?”

Holst smooshed his face against the paper. “Because… it will… enclose… the magic?”

Chris’s delighted laugh was contagious. Holst lowered the paper to grin at him over it. “You’re kidding right?” he asked. “That’s the answer?”

Chris covered his mouth with one hand, eyes shiny with mirth. “Well, it’s more complicated than that, but that’s the gist of it!” He crawled back to trace his finger on the floor between them. “If you don’t close the circle, the magic spills out and becomes unstable. It _ could _ cause an explosion, depending on the type of magic. Opening magic especially…”

Holst laid his chin in his hand, watching Christophe talk. It had been days since they began working on the project together, days since Holst started trying to breathe easier, and as if some wall had crumbled between them--as if Christophe had scaled it--they’d never been closer.

Before, everything about Chris seemed to come to him through a film or like he was underwater. His sad eyes, star-like hair, his rare and beautiful smile…

Chris wasn’t like that at all. All along, Holst had only scratched the surface. _ This _ right in front of him was the real Christophe, babbling excitedly about the complicated history of magical diagrams, quoting their textbook with a matter of fact look on his face. The real Christophe was the one that screamed when he caught a fish or sang raunchy bar songs under his breath and blushed when someone noticed.

Holst couldn’t get enough of him.

And sometimes, when Chris looked up at him like now, through his lashes, and blushed, he wondered if he felt the same. Holst had been more honest lately. He’d been trying not to hide. Did Christophe like what he had to give?

Holst thought about it all the time, but instead of scaring him, it excited him. What _ did _ Chris think of him? He wanted to know.

“Holst?” Chris waved his hand in front of his face. It took all of his self-control not to catch it and press his palm against his lips. “You’re not even paying attention!”

He barely managed to hold himself back. Instead, he leaned back on his hands and smirked. “How am I supposed to pay proper attention when my teacher is so breathtakingly beautiful?”

Chris blushed, unmistakable, and he even smiled--but then he rolled his eyes and said, “Maybe if you pay attention you’ll find he’s not just a pretty face and actually learn something.”

Holst grinned and crawled closer, uncaring of the chalk staining his knees. Chris gasped and crawled backwards, grin just as wide. “Maybe I want to learn that song you were singing yesterday,” he teased.

Chris kicked at him with a giggle. “I have no idea what you’re--”

“How’d it go again? ‘She’ll tell you if she wants you!’”

Chris squealed, waving his hands at him. “Holst, no!”

“‘With her eyes, her words, her hands!’”

“Stars, what if someone hears you?”

“‘And if you pay a copper!’”

“Holst!” Chris’s whine was so damn cute.

“‘She’ll tell you with her--’”

The unmistakable sound of a fist pounding against the other side of the wall made Chris scream. Good ol’ Mikky shouted, “Shut the fuck up!”

Chris stared at the wall and then at Holst and then burst into giggles. He flopped onto his back, holding his stomach and wheezing as he laughed. “My house leader is your neighbor?” he choked, throwing his hand over his mouth.

“Don’t I know it,” Holst sighed, laying on his stomach next to Chris. “Let’s take a break from studying.”

Chris hummed, closing his eyes, still smiling. “Well, you did crawl all over your hard work.”

“A tragedy. Truly.”

For a long moment, they were quiet, coming down from their rudely interrupted high. Holst could almost imagine falling asleep there on the floor next to Chris, careless of the mess. It didn’t matter. Chris was there, and he wouldn’t care, Holst knew.

Then Chris whispered, “Will you tell me about Leicester?”

Chris’s question was shy, unsure. This getting to know the real Holst thing, it was a slow going process, as much as Holst was trying. Sometimes, he couldn’t bear to share things on his own. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what was worth sharing. And sometimes Chris asked questions that Holst didn’t even know how to answer.

This one though. This one he could.

He put his head in his arms and closed his eyes, conjuring the image of home in his mind. It wasn’t so hard. Home… “The weather is always nice,” he began. “Warm. Especially in Goneril. We’re right on the Almyran border, and when you get close to it, the land gets all dry and hot. A desert. But my favorite part is the sea.”

Chris curled up near him. Close to his side. Eyes shut peacefully, long lashes fanned out over his cheeks. Holst wondered what it would be like to kiss him there, under his eyes, feel his lashes flutter against his lips.

He swallowed hard and said, “Sometimes, in the summer, my family takes a trip to the mountains down south of Goneril, and it’s the perfect view. The sunset makes the water look pink--”

“Your favorite,” Chris hummed, sweetly.

Holst hummed tunelessly back. The last time they’d gone had been Hilda’s first visit. He remembered helping his father set up their camp, as his mother carried Hilda on her hip through the flowers, to the edge of the mountain. She pointed to the glittering ocean and said, _ Look how the stars dance on the surface. They live in the water when the sun is up and rise with the moon. _

That night, Hilda sat in his lap, looking up at the sky and asked, _ Will you take me diving for stars tomorrow? I want big ones. I’m gonna put them in my hair! _

“Have you ever been to the ocean, Chris?”

“Mm…” Chris shook his head, eyes still shut. Half asleep. “In Faerghus, it’s always cold… Not as much in Gaspard, but… I’d love to see the ocean. All we have at home is this big lake outside the castle… In the winter, it freezes over, and we can go ice skating…”

“Ice skating?”

Chris smiled a little wider, his eyes finally opening a bit. Glittering blue. “Yeah. We have these thin sharp blades that we attach to our shoes so we can glide on the ice. It’s hard, but my… my mother taught me how.”

“It sounds like fun.” Holst turned on his side to face Chris. He held his head up against his fist. “Take me sometime?”

Chris laughed, looking up at Holst, eyes open fully. “If you promise to take me to the ocean.”

“Christophe, I’d take you anywhere you asked.”

Chris licked his lips, Holst’s eyes flickering nigh involuntarily to the movement, zeroing in. And when he bit his lip, Holst swallowed hard. “Stars… Myra was right.”

Holst met his eyes again. “What? What was she right about?”

Chris blushed and giggled. “Oh um, n-nothing!”

Well, that only made Holst _ more _ curious, but no matter how he begged, Chris kept his secret behind his bow-shaped smile.

* * *

“What’s with that dreamy look on your face?” Cass teased, punching Holst’s arm.

It was meant to be playful, but Holst still winced, rubbing the forming bruise. It didn’t diminish his unwavering smile though. He was pretty sure nothing would.

That night, he and Chris were going to finish his project together. The thought of being done--of putting to rest the voice in the back of his head that insisted he was a failure--made him ecstatic.

And even more than that, the thought of doing it with Chris made his heart flutter in his chest.

He didn’t say all of that to Cass though. As much as he liked to think they were becoming friends, he still remembered the fury in her eyes when she demanded he leave Chris alone. Better to keep his crush to himself.

“Just excited to finally be done with this dumb project,” he insisted, and before she could question him, pointed at the heavy crate of of supplies she had tucked under her arm. “What’s all that for?”

They were both heading the same direction, Holst to the library where Chris had asked to meet him, but Cass hadn’t explained herself yet. She looked at her crate, full to the brim with new, unused inkwells and fresh parchment, and she… blushed. She was blushing, but there was a frown on her face that made Holst frown too.

As excited as he was to meet up with Chris, he slowed to a stop and turned to her. “Cass?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at the ground. Holst knew, logically, that he’d only known her for a short amount of time, but he was almost positive this nervous, apologetic expression on her face was rarer than snow in Almyra. “When we first met, I was a total bitch.”

Holst didn’t know how to respond. Had she been? She hadn’t been kind, of course, but not a bitch. She didn’t wait for a response though, continuing, “I’ve been… I mean… You make Chris smile, and that’s--he hasn’t been so happy in a while so I…”

She sighed deeply, adjusting her grip on the crate. “Chris doesn’t always get people, so I… Ever since we were kids, I’ve been the one who beat up his bullies and helped him talk to people and go out--Goddess, I even postponed going to the Academy because I didn’t want him to go alone.”

Holst stuck his hands in his pockets, staring at her. “He’s like a little brother to you.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, not looking at him. “I think I’m too much.”

“Well,” Holst said, tilting his head in thought. He knew how she felt. With Hilda… she was the sun. So bright and beautiful and Holst saw so, so much potential in her. She could be anything she wanted--and that wasn’t always a good thing.

Sometimes, she was selfish, she was usually lazy. Holst saw her flaws as easy as her perfections, and he couldn’t help wanting to shield her from them, from their consequences.

But she wouldn’t learn anything that way. She wouldn’t grow.

And maybe he’d been so focused on helping her ignore her flaws that he’d ignored his own as well.

He looked at Cassandra, looking at him, awaiting his response, hoping… that he’d understand. And he did.

“Chris isn’t going to get better with people--or with anything--if you don’t let him,” he said slowly. He could only hope it was the right answer. He believed it was true, as much as it hurt to admit aloud. She looked down, away, and he thought maybe that was a sign she knew it was true as well. “And, Cass, neither are you.”

She seemed surprised by that part, as if she hadn’t even considered that babying Chris was hurting her as well. He couldn’t blame her. It hadn’t occurred to him either until that night Chris sang him to sleep. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d put his own needs on the backburner at all.

It wasn’t easy, frying pan to fire, but it was necessary.

“I think…” Cass took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking I want to be… better. That’s what this is.” She lifted the crate a bit to show it off. “I thought I could help Seteth out some. You know, he works with the Archbishop, and… I really admire her. She’s so good, she helps everyone…” She let out a deep sigh. “I want to be more like her.”

Holst smiled and reached out a hand to squeeze her shoulder. “You need help carrying that?” he asked.

She smiled back at him. “Nah. You go find Chris. I don’t want to keep you from your date.”

Holst went wide-eyed as she laughed and walked away. “Hey!” he called after her. “Maybe you could become a Knight of Seiros!”

Cass turned to walk backwards and wave at him. “Maybe I will!”

She disappeared around the corner, and Holst took a deep breath. Well, hell. If Cass could figure things out, so could he.

And he’d start with this damn project!

Holst determinedly marched to the library, getting his head in the game. No matter what it took, he wasn’t going to give up--usually he quit the first try, wrote himself off as imperfect, convincing himself that things would never change.

But that wasn’t true. With Chris as his tutor, he’d come to understand more and more. He was _ getting _ it. He was trying.

Chris was already waiting for him in the center of the library, holding textbooks and parchment and a small wooden box with a key sticking out. The moment Holst walked in, Chris grinned at him.

“Good to see you haven’t lost your nerve,” he greeted as Holst made his way to him.

Holst grinned back, the rest of the world falling away, nothing mattering in the empty library but Chris before him. One day, he imagined running full speed to him, wrapping him up in his arms, spinning him round and round in circles as they kissed. Like something out of an opera.

Instead, he stopped in front of Chris, maybe closer than necessary, but Chris didn’t move away. He tilted his head to look up at him, biting delicately into his lower lip. “I was thinking we could go to our spot,” he said and then whipped around to lead the way.

Up the stairs and in between and under bookcases, Holst followed Chris to ‘their spot,’ hidden away from any prying eyes. They sat across from each other, Chris setting the wooden box between them. He twisted the key in the lock and leaned back. “Okay,” he said. “Go.”

Holst took a piece of chalk from Chris’s pile and with a deep breath, set to work. When he’d started this, he hadn’t realized that all these lines and symbols were really separate pieces. It wasn’t about memorizing the whole thing itself, it was about remembering the pieces, why they worked and how they fit together.

And they did work. They did fit. This symbol to summon energy, this to create balance. Straight lines promoted stability, diagonal for power. A round circle around the box to focus the magic and--

Holst hesitated, chalk hanging over the box. He studied the diagram. Every line was connected, symbols aligned, no possible way for the magic to escape. He looked up at Chris, whose steady gaze made Holst’s pounding heart settle. He smiled. Chris smiled back.

“Sorry if I explode you.”

“As long as it’s you, I don’t mind.”

But Holst would never hurt him.

He put his fingertips on the corners of the box to hold it still and then very carefully drew the symbol for opening.

The entire diagram glowed bright white, nearly blinding in its intensity, and Holst heard a soft _ click _. He moved his hand from the box which popped open… and began to sing.

Holst stared at it, a little dancer in the center, spinning in time to the tinkling song. He stared at it and then looked at Chris, who seemed fit to burst with joy. “Holst,” he breathed, “You did it.”

Holst stared at him a moment longer, illuminated by the light of magic, as if the stars had seen fit to surround him, kiss his skin, bless him--and by proximity, bless Holst as well.

“I did it,” he breathed back. Then he grinned and tackled Chris with a hug.

Chris squealed--did he imagine the delight?--wriggling in Holst’s arms as they rolled on the floor. “Holst!” he laughed, breathless and ecstatic, hugging Holst fiercely to his chest. “Oh Holst, I knew you could do it, I knew it!”

Holst could have cried, nearly did, holding Chris so tight he could feel the hard shape of his amulet between them. He reached up and cupped the back of Chris’s head, tucking him even closer, breathing out deeply when Chris didn’t flinch and only smiled against his shoulder.

“It’s because of you,” Holst whispered. He leaned back, realizing that somewhere in their embrace, he’d ended up on top of Chris, and now Christophe looked up at him, framed with pale white magic and his own blonde curls. The music box still tinkled just beyond them.

Distant. Looking down at Chris this way, it all felt a million miles away. Underwater. Amongst the stars. Christophe’s lips parted, the softest warmth in his eyes.

Holst was young. He guessed he didn’t really _ know _ what love felt like.

But if it was anything--_ anything _\--like this… he wanted to live there, build a home, for years, forever.

Christophe blinked up at him, lashes fluttering, and Holst was sure he didn't imagine the way his gaze flickered to his lips. He couldn’t help it then. He leaned down and--

Chris’s hands tightened on Holst’s shoulder blades just before their lips could meet, and Holst felt his heart hammer, the heat of his gasp. He’d shut his eyes, but… he looked _ scared _.

Holst swallowed hard. They were so close now, he could feel Chris’s breath against his mouth, and the tips of their noses just met. Would it hurt to close that inch of space?

Chris was trembling. Breathing a little too fast.

“Hey,” Holst whispered, leaning back again.

Chris peeked an eye open just a slit, unsure, but… relieved? “H… Hey…”

Holst smiled a little. He wondered if he should say something, but Chris’s nervous fidgeting made him think better of it. Instead, he sat up, carefully tugging Chris with him. He let his hands fall to his elbows, steadying him. “Chris… thank you.”

Christophe bit his lip, not looking up at Holst. “N-no, you… this was all you, I just--”

Holst slid one hand up, not quite touching Chris’s cheek, but ghosting his palm beside it. Chris finally met his gaze. Holst knew, no matter how Chris denied it, that he’d never have finished the project alone--that maybe, without Chris, he would have still been trapped in that room, for Goddess knew how long.

His stomach hurt, remembering the way he’d yelled at Chris, attacked him even.

“I shouldn’t have treated you that way… before,” he began. “I was angry, and… hurt, and I took it out on you, and that was wrong.” His voice sounded tight and wet, felt as if he’d swallowed something sharp and couldn’t get it out.

Chris’s hand touched his.

Holst lifted his head and stared as Chris pressed his cheek to Holst’s palm, his hand cupping the back of it. Goddess… Chris’s touch was so soft.

Compared to Holst’s rough, sun-weathered hands, Chris’s were so thin and pale. His fingers were long, frail, easily fitting between Holst’s, and unblemished save for a dusting of freckles across his knuckles that Holst suddenly ached to kiss.

Then as soon as it happened, Chris’s hand was gone. He pulled away from Holst, fingertips just grazing his cheek. As if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. “I… Holst, thank you, but… in a way, I’m glad you did. Because if you hadn’t yelled at me that day, I would never have…” He bit his lip hard, looked up at Holst from beneath his lashes, eyes glittering like stars beneath the water. “I wouldn’t have met the real Holst. And I really like him.”

Holst smiled slowly, weakly. “I really like him too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took literally forever to write! Idk what possessed me to finally get back to writing this but I'm so glad I did. I missed my BOYS. I hope you guys enjoy! They are... so somft...


	7. The Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Battle of the Eagle and Lion draws ever closer, Chris finds himself drawing closer to Holst as well--but he can't figure out why it feels so right.

Christophe Gaspard most certainly did not have a crush on Holst Goneril.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think Holst was _ worthy _ of his affection, naturally he was--well, he had plenty of… qualities. He was kind, intelligent, handsome, very handsome, with those bright eyes, messy hair, loose collar… When he flexed his arms, his biceps stretched his sleeves and after a particularly intense training session, his tan skin glistened with sweat that pooled in his--

Stars. Chris shifted in his saddle, grimacing to himself. He absolutely did not have a crush, he just had an… _ appreciation _for, well, for his friend!

Cassandra didn’t seem to think so.

Chris glanced over at her. She wasn’t riding near him at all, her horse close to the caravan they and the rest of the Blue Lions had been tasked with defending for their monthly house mission. She wore an intense expression, brows furrowed deeply over her eyes. Lately she’d been… distant.

It started with little things, so small Chris didn’t notice. _ Have fun with your friends! _ when he asked if she wanted to hang out with him. _ I’m kind of busy helping Seteth with something _, when he asked if she wanted to have lunch together. But she always had a bitter look on her face when he said it was okay, he’d ask Holst instead.

It had come to a head the day before when he’d regaled her with a tale of Holst’s hijinks while they packed for the escort mission. _ Don’t you think about anything but your dumb crush on Holst anymore? _ she’d muttered.

What was he supposed to say to that? Of course he did! His schoolwork, the upcoming mission, the fast approaching Battle of the Eagle and Lion. He thought about the kids at home and his father. He thought often of Cassie and why she seemed so strange and standoffish lately.

And it was not a _ crush _.

Chris huffed and turned back in his seat. He didn’t have time to focus on her and their spat. They had a mission to complete! The forest around them was dense and foggy, and though it wasn’t too hard to follow the group, he didn’t want to be the one who made a mistake.

They weren’t far from the Western Church now, and Chris couldn’t help thinking that meant they weren’t far from Gaspard either. He wished he could visit home for a moment, but he knew better, given the precious cargo they were escorting: Lady Rhea, the Archbishop herself.

Chris hadn’t actually met her yet, but already she intimidated him. She was so tall and regal, almost like royalty, but… something about her just…

He shivered. It was silly to feel put off by someone so renowned for their benevolence. He should have been honored to escort her alongside his class.

He glanced ahead to Miklan, leading the caravan atop a great black steed. His fiery red hair stood out in the darkness. Miklan wasn’t the kindest house leader--or person--but nevertheless Chris was glad for his presence. When he wasn’t around, his class could be so raucous and impossible to wrangle, but they had rode in relative silence all this time, probably out of fear of his notorious temper.

Of course, Chris couldn’t help comparing him to Holst. The Golden Deer were never silent, never easy to handle, but Holst did it with a smile. It seemed so much more like they all liked him. And Chris couldn’t blame them. Holst was brave and a skilled fighter. Chris wished he were in their class. Fighting under Holst’s guidance would be an honor--a privilege--and he was admittedly jealous that Myra and Byron--

A distant growl drew Chris out of his thoughts. He wasn’t the only one who’d heard it. Everyone’s head turned towards the sound, searching the dense thicket for signs of movement. Alois, who’d been walking beside the carriage, came to stand in the center of the class, a pensive expression on his ordinarily cheery face. There was a long moment of silence, and Chris held his breath.

Nothing.

Chris’s heart pounded in his chest, hands trembled on the reins of his horse. But as the seconds passed, a breath of relief seemed to fall through the class. Miklan, ahead, looked at Alois, who gave him a short nod.

“All right,” Miklan called, not so loud that anyone but the class would hear. “We’re not far. Surround the carriage.”

Chris and the rest eagerly followed the order, tucking as close to the carriage as safety allowed. Archers sat on each corner, mages like Chris at each side. He rode in silence, chanting spells in his head and sparing glances at Cassie every few steps they took forward.

Another growl echoed through the trees, followed by a snap, a snarl. It seemed far away, but the tension in the air was palpable.

The first beast broke through the trees.

It was bigger than any creature Chris had ever seen, a gigantic wolf that snarled viciously as it pounced at Miklan. Chris held back his scream, chanting a fire spell instead and waiting for an order from Alois or Miklan or _ anyone _. Arrows flew towards the creature as Miklan ducked off his horse and rolled out of the way.

A roar behind them.

Chris whipped around towards the sound, another creature, so big it dwarfed the Archbishop’s carriage. A girl screamed as it raced towards her, unswayed by the arrows that lodged in its hide.

“Gaspard!” Chris heard Miklan shout. “Look sharp!”

Chris looked towards him long enough to realize he was pointing towards the treeline beside him. Another beast burst from the undergrowth, racing right for him. He gritted his teeth against a shriek, lifting his hands. Glowing circles appeared in his palms, the light dripping as flames to the ground. As the beast, a bird with wings that seemed to spread for miles, neared, Chris shouted a spell and blasted its open beak with flames.

The beast shrieked and flapped its wings hard enough to spook Chris’s horse and send his hair flying from his face. Chris had heard of monsters like this, that seemed unhurt and unwavered no matter the attacks it endured--he didn’t believe it until one of his classmates raced forward and slashed across its chest, the bird barely phased by the gushing blood.

“We can’t fight these!” he shouted, looking desperately towards Miklan who swung his lance overhead, stabbing at his own foe. “Miklan, we have to run!”

All around them, more monsters seemed to appear from the fog, as if born of the mist. Chris’s horse was frozen with fear, so he leapt off of it, racing towards Miklan. They could grab the Archbishop, abandon the carriage. They were close to the church, they could make it--

But he heard a familiar scream.

Chris saw it out of the corner of his eye first, Cassie desperately swinging her sword into each beast that came for her. She’d raced ahead of the group, as if drawing the creatures away, but now she was surrounded and Chris could see the wounds in her side, bloody and raw.

“Cassie,” he gasped. “Cassie!”

He didn’t care suddenly about anything but her. He ran for her, screaming spells and slinging them at every monster that circled her. “Get back! Get away from her!”

He stumbled as he ran, his spells grew weak. Cassie seemed so far away when a bird’s claws sank into her back and shoved her into the ground. She screamed as she fell limp. “Cassandra!”

There was a moment of stillness. Chris felt his heart sink to his stomach. His throat burned. This… this was a nightmare, it couldn’t be happening, it--

A cold air fell across the battlefield, and the familiar chant of a spell caught Chris’s ears. Arrows of blue flame rained from above, each piercing the beasts like blades through their hearts. One by one, they shrieked and collapsed, bursting into strange flames.

But Chris didn’t care.

He kept running towards Cassie’s limp form, skidding onto his knees at her side. Her coat was in tatters, blood pooling around her. “Cassie,” he choked, struggling to breathe through the tears. He carefully turned her onto her back, her bruised and bloody face twisted in pain.

Chris let out an achy sob. Stars, this wasn’t real, it was a horrible, horrible nightmare. “Help,” he sobbed. “Somebody help! Please!”

He carefully lifted her into his lap, combing her messy hair from her face. “Please, please, it’s okay, Cassie, please, don’t--”

“Oh, my child…”

Chris looked up, shivering from the cold. The faint sun through the trees was blocked entirely by a tall, regal woman. Her long, mint green hair fell over her breast, her glowing green eyes like those arrows of flame from before.

She smiled sweetly at him, as if his best friend--his sister--wasn’t bleeding out in his arms.

Lady Rhea knelt beside Chris, careless of the mud staining the hem of her pure white dress. She placed her hand to Cassie’s wounded cheek, turning her head to face her. Without a word, magic lighted from her fingers--warm like sunlight over closed eyes. It glowed on Cassie’s face, piecing the skin back together, leaving only dirt and blood on her nose and jaw. Cassie’s eyes fluttered open--and caught Lady Rhea’s gaze. She smiled briefly before falling asleep.

Lady Rhea looked at Chris. “Dear boy… may I?”

She held her arms out to take Cassie from his bloody lap, and Chris was too stunned to refuse. She lifted her easily into the air. Cassie so rarely looked small, but… cradled to the Archbishop’s chest, she looked like a child.

“You were very brave,” Lady Rhea cooed to her. “I will heal you now. Just rest.”

She took Cassie back to her carriage, ushered inside by Seteth and Alois. And all Chris could do was watch.

* * *

Cassandra didn’t wake up for a long time. Every day, for at least a week, Chris curled up in the infirmary beside her while she rested, her wounds soothed by the Archbishop herself. Her magic looked warm, but it left shivers down his spine.

He wanted to be grateful. Try as he could, faith magic eluded him. His prayers were never earnest enough. The Goddess never seemed to hear his pleas. He could never have hoped to heal Cassie himself. He _ wanted _to be grateful.

But something about the weak, vulnerable way Cassie turned her face to meet Lady Rhea’s hand made him feel sick to his stomach.

At some point, he couldn’t bear to watch anymore. He came less and less often, popping in only between classes, hoping to find Lady Rhea gone and Cassie awake.

It happened one day, finally, late at night after classes. Chris knocked at the door, smiling wide when Cassie stirred beneath the covers. “Hey,” he called, walking to perch on the edge of her bed. “Cassie?”

She lifted her head at the sound of his voice, and a relieved smile spread across her face. “Chris…” She pushed to sit up, wincing at the pain of it, but she waved him off when he tried to help. “Hey, relax, I’m fine.”

Chris stared at her instead, taking her in. The flickering candlelight made her seem more gaunt than usual, and her hair had grown a bit too long, falling over her eyes and behind her ears. Chris braved a touch, tucking a lock behind her ear. “You look better,” he said, despite it all.

She hummed sleepily, leaning heavily against the headboard. “Feel better.”

Chris swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to say. The infirmary smelled of bitter medicine, barely masking the sour scent of bile, the metal of blood. Chris had never liked this place, and seeing Cassie in it he liked even less.

He remembered the sight of her bloody, marred face, the limpness of her body…

“Hey, are you crying?” she asked.

Was he? He reached up to wipe at his eyes, his fingertips coming away wet and warm. He sniffled hard. “I--I was…” He let out a weak, choked little sound. “I was so scared--”

“Oh, Chrissy…” Cassie reached out and tugged him to her chest. She wore nothing but a loose nightgown, and he felt the heat of her against his cheek--he heard the steady, thriving beat of her heart. “Chrissy, I’m okay…”

Chris closed his eyes and hugged her back. He tried not to dwell on how she almost wasn’t, how she’d nearly--in his arms, she’d nearly…

For a long time, they only sat together, breathing, and then Cassie hummed, “So are those for me?”

Chris looked over at the night table, where an arrangement of gifts lay nearly forgotten. He sniffed and wiped his eyes as he pulled away from her. “Y-yeah, um…” He smiled a little and plucked one from the top of the pile. A vase of flowers had been left by a girl from class that Chris was quite sure had a crush on Cassie, but the rest were from loved ones they had in common.

“Your sister sent this,” he said, handing her a small blue box. Inside was a gaudy pair of earrings that they both knew Cassandra would never wear, but from her smile, Chris knew it was the thought that counted.

He took another box with Myra’s elegant signature, and another with Byron’s chicken scratch, “get better soon.” Holst had bought her a tin of that rose petal tea she liked. Even Miklan left something, though neither of them could guess what it was and Cassandra didn’t seem eager to find out.

But when he picked up his own, he hesitated. It was nothing much… a charm, one that matched the one he always wore, the one his mother had given him. Charon was known for its rose quartz, and after seeing those monsters surround her…

“Um… this is…” He unwrapped the soft cloth, winding the red twine that had held it shut around his finger. “I thought this would protect you.”

Cassie was gentle as she took it from his hands. Their fingers brushed, but… Chris didn’t flinch. He smiled as she slipped it over her head. She took the charm in hand, smooth stone, shiny in the candlelight. The bed rustled as she tucked her legs under herself. “It’s beautiful, Chris…”

He looked away, playing absently with the twine. “Now… if any monsters try to hurt you…”

She hummed, and Chris looked up at her. She seemed so… conflicted. Something flickering in her ice blue eyes. Relief in the trembling corners of her smile, something colder in her furrowed brow. Her hair fell into her eyes as she ducked her head. “Chris…” her voice seemed so watery. “I miss you…”

Chris thought surely he’d never felt so sick and hollow. Why… why did she _ miss _ him? He was right there--he’d never left.

Chris pulled the twine straight between his fingers and reached behind her head. Gently, slowly, he combed her hair from her eyes and into the twine, tied into a bow. Somehow, he thought it suited her. Somehow, he thought _ this _ suited him.

He remembered his mother’s kindness keenly. Her hands in his hair, kisses on his forehead. She was so lovely. Strong-willed, intelligent. But kind and good and caring as well.

When Cassie looked up at him, eyes full of tears, he smiled and wondered if maybe his mother wasn’t all gone. Maybe there was still part of her there, in him, if he only looked within and tried. Maybe he could be a good friend, brother--even father someday.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he insisted, cupping her cheek and squeezing her shoulder.

She sniffled and shook her head. “Y-you’ve been… it’s just you’re always hanging out with Holst a-and--”

Chris furrowed his brow, pulling his hands slowly away. “What are you talking--”

“All you ever talk about is him,” she muttered, and there was such a bitterness in her voice. It hurt, like she’d pinched him, like she’d stung him.

“That’s not--”

“Yes it is!”

Chris leaned back as she raised her voice, his throat going tight. What had he… Had he done something wrong?

But he… he hadn’t pushed her away. He hadn’t been the one dead silent every time they fished together, the one always too busy for tea, too tired to study.

“I-I’m not the one who’s been distant--”

“Distant?”

Chris gritted his teeth and leaned toward her again. “Yes! Distant! How am I to talk about anything with someone who never wants to talk to me--”

“Of course I want to--”

“You have a funny way of showing it!” When had this become a shouting match? When had he gone from relieved to angry? “How could you say I only care about Holst--”

“I didn’t say that!”

“When I’ve been here every day, praying for you to get better--”

“It’s not like you’re the one who nursed me back to health--”

Chris shot to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. How could she _say_ that? “Do you think the stupid Archbishop cares about you more than--”

“_ Don’t _ talk that way about Lady Rhea.”

Chris stared at her, breathless and aching. The expression on her face was so… so… _ venomous. _ She had never looked at him that way. _ Do you hate me? _ he thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He just wanted to burst into tears.

He didn’t want her to see.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he choked, and ran out of the room.

* * *

Chris didn’t like to fight angry. Anger made him sloppy, put him in danger, as well as the ones he loved.

But stars, he’d never fought so angry in his life. His arm ached from swinging his rapier until the dummy he faced was hanging by threads. He’d shouted so many spells that his throat was sore. Even then, the anger made him jittery and hard to control, as if it were a living thing inside of him, longing to escape.

“Training for the Battle?”

Chris froze at the sound of Holst’s voice, eyes wide and smile wider. There Holst stood, dazzling in the sunlight, leaning against the training ground doors as if he hadn’t been gone a week on his house mission.

_ It wouldn’t be very proper of me to run _, Chris thought for only a moment before Holst smirked and opened his arms.

Chris bolted for him, forgetting the burn in his muscles as he crossed the grounds in mere moments, flying into Holst’s embrace. Holst stumbled as he caught him, strong arms squeezing his waist.

“I missed you too!” he laughed, hearty and warm.

Chris just snuggled as close to him as he dared, wishing in his heart of hearts that he never had to let go. Did he even need to say he’d missed Holst? Their few days apart had felt so long, even longer for Cassandra’s absence.

He rested his chin on Holst’s shoulder, up on his tiptoes just to reach, and blinked back the tears. He… He didn’t want to talk about that. Not now that Holst had finally returned.

He managed to breathe the tears back in by the time he and Holst parted, Holst’s hands a notable weight on his waist. “Would… would you like to train together?” he asked.

Holst hummed and squinted at him, his bright gaze studying Chris’s face. Lately, Holst’s gaze had changed. When they first met, it was so… flashy, as if he had something to prove every time he looked at Chris.

He much preferred this thoughtfulness. He much preferred the way Holst reached up and tucked a curl behind his ear.

“I think you should take a break,” he said instead, stepping back from him.

That was how they ended up strolling the grounds together, talking about anything and everything that came to mind. It was a good day for it, classes suspended for the weekend, the days growing warmer as summer approached, the sun bright and the breeze cool. The cherry blossoms had all long since fallen, replaced by sour fruit and green leaves. The fish in the pond were livelier than usual, as if they knew this was a time of energy and fun.

Holst’s class had just come back from the Alliance, and he had more stories to weave of Goneril, of Leicester. It was warmer there than Faerghus, and Chris could only imagine how beautiful it was. Faerghus, with its snow and ice and great evergreen forests, was austere in its beauty. The kind of place where battle was necessary, where death was honorable.

Leicester sounded so different. When Holst described it, he spoke of fields of vibrant wildflowers, of the glistening sea and pink orange sunrise. He told Chris about the days he spent flying kites with Hilda or catching fireflies on balmy nights. To Chris, Leicester sounded as welcoming and lovely as Holst’s voice and glowing eyes.

Chris supposed he’d never hated Faerghus but… Home held as many bad memories as good. Home was the stinging snow that fell after his mother fell ill; home was the first night he fell asleep at the fireplace with Ashe and Angela and Alistair curled up around him like cats; home was…

“You seem down,” Holst hummed as they walked along the bridge that led to the cathedral.

It loomed over them, the sun behind its spires casting them in shadow. Its stained glass windows stared like glistening eyes, like the Archbishop’s discerning stare.

Chris stopped and leaned against the wall of the bridge, staring to the world below. So very far. “I’m fine,” he lied.

Home was Cassie’s ever present smile, her bellowing laugh, her arms squeezed around his shoulders. He didn’t want to fight with her anymore. Why was she pushing him away?

Holst’s touch was careful as always, only a brush of fingertips on Chris’s shoulder as he came to stand at his side. “You don’t have to lie to me,” Holst insisted.

When Chris looked at him, he saw the sincerity in his eyes. It was so odd to hear his words turned back on him. Chris hadn’t wanted Holst to lie to him… and he was right. He shouldn’t lie to Holst.

But it was hard to say it. As if saying it made it real.

“Cassandra is… upset with me,” he said slowly, each word a weight on his tongue. He ducked his head, pressed his face to the cool stone wall. “I’m not… good at… understanding people. I don’t know if I’ve done something wrong--if I’m acting strangely, why not tell me so?” He bit his lip hard, felt the bruise of it, closed his eyes. “Have I been a bad friend? Do I talk to you too much, or her not enough?”

Holst was quiet for a long time, a thoughtful silence heavy between them. Then slowly, inchingly, Holst laid his against his back, between his shoulder blades. “Chris, you’re not a bad friend.”

Chris looked up at him, worried that his eyes swam with tears. He didn’t know if he even deserved to cry. “You don’t know that,” he said. “I may be a good friend to you, b-but what if--”

Holst’s arm went around his shoulders. Chris melted into his embrace, those tears he didn’t deserve to cry spilling down his cheeks. “Listen,” Holst began. “You and Cass have been friends since you were kids, Chris. You’re bound to have arguments.”

And they had! Of course they had! But it was _ different _ from this. Cassie wore her heart on her sleeve, and she wasn’t petty or jealous. So this couldn’t really be about Holst, but neither was it an argument over who took whose fishing rod or who was the better swordsman or…

“I’m… scared,” Chris admitted, leaning heavily against Holst’s side. “I don’t want to lose her…”

Holst hummed and rubbed his shoulder. “Sometimes that happens,” he admitted.

Chris looked up at him pleadingly. How could he say that? But Holst wasn’t looking at him. He was looking up at the sky above them. There was no intensity to his expression, just a thoughtfulness, as if he’d come to this conclusion for the first time, though he’d always known it deep down.

“Sometimes you love someone with all your heart. Sometimes you’d do anything--you’ve _ done _ anything--to keep them close, to compromise, but… it just doesn’t work. Losing friends like that… it hurts. But sometimes…” Holst smiled down at Chris and--suddenly--tapped his nose. “Sometimes you just need a break. And that’s what I think is happening here.”

Chris stared at him, stunned by the playful tap, and then as Holst pulled his arm from around him, a deep red blush spread across his face. Holst was so--!

Chris covered his face in his hands. “Y-you… you sound like you’re speaking from experience,” he squeaked, wishing his voice weren’t so hard to control.

Holst chuckled though, his warmth ever at Chris’s side. “Nah, not experience… Well, not first hand. Hilda loses friends as fast as she makes them.”

Chris frowned at that, At least she had friends. Ashe and the younger two were symbiotic it seemed, never really getting close to the village children or the servant kids either…

He lowered his hands, looking up at Holst over them. His voice was muffled in his palms as he said, “But… Why would she need a break from me? Am I… Am I too much?”

Holst shook his head, his smile soothing somehow. He wondered if this was the smile Holst used for Hilda or if this one was specially for him--either way, it was genuine.

“She asked me the same thing,” he admitted.

Chris blinked at him a few times, hands slowly lowering from his face entirely. “She spoke to you?”

Holst nodded, kicking the toe of his boot against the ground. “You’re not too much, Chris. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re ‘too much.’ I should’ve told her that too, I think.” Holst leaned his hip against the wall so he was facing Chris, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Neither of you are too much. I think you’ve just been friends for so long… maybe you guys need some time alone, to figure out who you are all on your own.”

Who they were… on their own? Chris lowered his hands again, holding onto the wall. The summer breeze fluttered his hair, and the sun warmed his pale skin. He and Cassandra had always been attached at the hip. Even when they were apart, they sent letters and gifts back and forth. He’d never known a day without Cassie, as long as he could remember.

“Maybe…” Chris swallowed and turned to look up at Holst. He’d always had Cassie to rely on, and he appreciated it, of course he did.

But maybe…

“I do want to know… who I am without her too,” Chris said, determined, hands clenched at his sides. “And that doesn’t mean we’ll lose each other. Just that we’ll know how to support each other even better than before.”

Holst’s smile was even brighter and kinder. There was an ease between his brows where before there had only been a crease. He said nothing, gazing down at Chris with eyes crinkled at the corners from the width of his grin. Chris bit his lip and whispered, “Right?”

Holst’s hand came between them, palm open to Chris. Hesitating--tentative--Chris set his own hand atop it. Sun-warm and firm. Holst’s hand squeezed Chris’s reassuringly. “Right. Cass just wants you to be happy, Chris,” he assured him. “Just like you want her to be happy.”

Chris looked into Holst’s eyes, but he could think only of the way his hand felt, wrapped securely around his own. It wasn’t scary at all. It was safe. “Holst,” he whispered. “Thank you.

* * *

Summer passed in a blur, the days long and hot and wonderful. Chris woke every day excited for the next, the first time he’d felt that way in years--since his mother died. Sometimes, he lay awake in bed, wondering if he was even allowed such happiness, or if he was wrong to indulge in it.

But then he remembered what he had planned after classes and the guilt, the worry, floated away like so much snow.

Every day he spent with Holst felt like a new beginning. The snow had fallen and melted, and now Holst--like the sun--brought out the flowers that had been trapped underneath. Chris had always liked knowing what to expect from the day, comfortable with routine, but Holst never failed to surprise him--and he never failed to enjoy it.

One day, Holst dragged him to the greenhouse to show the lizard family he’d been “raising.” Naturally, he played innocent when one bit Chris and ended up thrown in the head gardener’s hair.

Another day, Holst--bored to tears of fishing--stripped off his shirt and dove into the pond. Chris tried to stay strong, but the sight of him glistening in the deep blue green pool was too much for his poor heart to handle. Seteth ended up dragging them both out of the water and scolding them for a solid ten minutes, but the way Holst laughed was well worth it.

At night, Holst’s bright grin convinced Chris to sneak out after curfew, walking through the bustling marketplace below. Summer air thick with spices and bartering voices wrapped around like a comforting blanket. With Holst’s hand curled around his, Chris didn’t even notice the crush of bodies swarming around them. It was only Holst, only lanterns and stars, only their twin laughter and his voice against his ear, “I want to pay you back for helping me.”

Chris smiled, pressed his lips close to his ear as well. “Being my friend is repayment enough,” he insisted.

And when Holst looked down at him, he tilted his head in a way that made Chris’s lips tingle as if he were _ anticipating _ something. He felt it the rest of the night, felt it even in his dreams, tingling, _ waiting _, wanting something that seemed just on the verge of happening.

Every moment he spent with Holst felt like that, somehow as thrilling as it was nerve wracking, all of this waiting.

Chris had never felt it with Cassandra. Some days, he even wanted to ask her about it, but she was nowhere to be seen. Even as the summer slowly cooled into fall, Chris more often found himself in Holst’s company or with Myra and Byron who he’d begun to consider friends. They trained together, studied together. Chris got used to Byron’s temper, and Myra taught him how to meditate to use faith magic--though he still had trouble.

But Cassandra…

Every now and then, they passed in the hall and Chris smiled in her direction. Sometimes she smiled back, though it seemed a force of habit. Often, she just kept walking--and those days, Chris ended up crying on Holst’s shoulder because he wished so desperately that they could find themselves together, wished they didn’t have to be apart.

“What if I apologize?” he asked, chest aching from his long, drawn out sobs.

“If you think there’s something you need to apologize for, then you should,” Holst told him, and held him closer, closer. “I’ll support you no matter what you decide.”

But Chris could never work up the courage.

Summer faded that way, from Holst’s warm embrace to the cool autumn breeze that knocked the cherry blossom leaves to the ground, orange and red. Chris was almost grateful for the familiar cold--less so for Holst closing up his collar to defend against it, though that was a feeling he chose to ignore.

The training for the upcoming Battle of the Eagle and Lion began in earnest, every other day dedicated to practicing formations with his class. Miklan was a strict instructor but… Chris didn’t mind.

Since their disastrous spar months before, he and Holst hadn’t faced each other in battle again. Holst was so focused and determined on winning the Battle, he refused to let Chris even watch him fight (a crying shame, said the flutter in his stomach every time Holst came to him sweaty and breathless from training). It made it all seem very important. The next time they faced each other in battle, it would be a true showdown, a true test of their mettle.

It excited Chris more than he’d expected. He threw himself into training, even begging Hanneman to teach him more powerful spells. He just about had the grasp of Meteor, though using it wore him out too much for him to be allowed to use it in the Battle.

In the corner of his eye, Cassie got stronger too. He wished they could practice together, but her skill with a sword had so improved that he didn’t imagine he’d be worth much as an opponent.

Beyond the Battle, school became harder and harder. He’d never thought himself much of a tutor, but the way Holst’s eyes lit up whenever Chris explained a concept made him think he was quite adept at it.

The best part of autumn however were the letters he received from home. His father’s letters he received often, but one day, just before he was set to leave for the Battle, he opened the envelope to find an extra sheet of parchment inside. Unlike his father’s neat and familiar handwriting, this letter was written in big, messy handwriting, and doodles of what seemed to be cats and flowers littered the margins.

_ Dear Chris, _

_ Lonato taught me how to write! I’m doing good! I’m going to write a story! When you visit for Founding Day, you can read it! _

_ I love you! _

_Ashe _<strike>_Ubert_</strike> <strike>_Gaspard _</strike>_Ubert_

Chris nearly cried over the words. It was so silly and sweet, the first letter he’d ever received from Ashe. When he left for the Academy, Ashe barely knew how to read, but now! Writing well enough to send him letters!

He curled up around it, holding it gently to his chest, against his amulet. When he visited for Founding Day--

Oh.

Chris turned onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. Founding Day. It was one of the few major holidays in Faerghus, a time for family and gift giving and cheer, but…

For as long as Chris could remember, he’d always invited Cassie to spend the holiday in Gaspard with him.

Chris turned onto his side and looked at the letter from his father. Warm as always, if reserved.

_ Dearest Christophe, _

_ You’ll be happy to know the preparations for Founding Day are going smoothly. The only sorely missing addition is the blessing of your presence. We also have room for guests, should you wish to invite a school friend. _

Guests. Chris’s father was no stranger to them. He was always happy to invite people to the castle, the village children, family, nobles from across the country. Once, he’d even managed to invite the great Duke Fraldarius and his two sons, both a lot more eager to play than Chris, who’d practically hidden away in his library for the majority of the visit.

Chris knew when his father said “if you wish to invite a friend” he meant “please invite a friend!” But the only friend he could think to invite was…

Holst.

The thought of it inexplicably made Chris’s heart stammer. He _ had _ promised to take Holst to Faerghus, hadn’t he? He could just imagine it… Holst bundled in Faerghan furs, tongue stuck out to catch the snow. Holst laughing over a mug of hot chocolate, the flickering light of the hearth on his tan skin.

Holst loved Chris’s singing voice… maybe he could teach him carols? Maybe they’d sing and dance at the village festival, Holst’s hands on his hips--or maybe Chris could teach him how to ice skate, he’d always been very good at that.

He could show him the field of violets dedicated to his mother. Their subtle sweet scent surrounding them as they laid side by side, and maybe Chris could tell him stories about her.

And, stars, maybe Holst could play with the kids. Maybe Ashe would like him--he was sure Angela would. The very thought of Holst hoisting them on his shoulders, grinning so bright and real--Chris’s heart pounded on his ribs, begging for release so it could fly.

Chris flipped onto his stomach and covered his head in his hands. No. Way. He couldn’t invite Holst, he’d just die! Just the thought of it made him so fluttery and warm, absolutely not!

And besides… Chris hadn’t even mentioned his new friend to his father yet. How would he react to a noble from a house as prestigious as Goneril stepping foot in their home? Ugh, he could only imagine how embarrassing his father’s reaction would be. Just like the Fraldariuses, he’d break out the finest dishes and the most expensive wine and treat Holst like a king more than a guest.

Chris knew… deep down… the way he talked and interacted with Holst… It was really quite improper. Holst wasn’t just a classmate; he was the heir to House Goneril. He even had a Crest!

It was just hard to remember that when every time Chris saw him, his heart leapt into his throat, a daring escape attempt.

Chris buried his face deeper in his pillow. Stars. He couldn’t invite Holst to his home. Out of the question.

But when he fell asleep, he dreamed of it. He couldn’t help that.

* * *

The journey to Gronder Field was long and draining. Manuela did her best to keep everyone’s spirits up, but even her gleeful chatter couldn’t break the tension in the air. The Battle might as well have been a final exam. It was what they’d all been training for, studying for, fighting for. The outcome of the Battle would be their legacy, for everyone after to remember them for.

“All right,” Miklan suddenly called from the front of the carriage, breaking through the thick silence surrounding them all.

Everyone turned to him, eyes wide and unsure, the tension still heavy on their shoulders. Miklan, who’d ruled over them with an iron fist the past few months, actually looked… gentle.. It was something in his brown eyes, the corners of his grim expression. Chris watched him intently for whatever wise words he had to share.

“This is the battle we’ve been working for. Every class,” he said, looking at everyone one by one. “Every drop of blood, sweat, tears. Every time you lost and ended up in the infirmary--every time you won and the exhilaration that followed. All of it led us here.”

Miklan’s eyes fell on Chris, intense. He’d never met a higher noble without a Crest, but Chris couldn’t help thinking he didn’t need that Crestly glow to feel like a leader.

“I’ve been hard on you, but I won’t apologize,” he said, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I was hard on you because you could handle it. Maybe you hate me for it. But you’re stronger than before. I’ve seen it.”

Miklan, careless of the rocking carriage, rose to his feet, raising his lance in the air. “We may not have as many Crests as our enemies, but who fucking cares? We were born in blizzards, raised in the harshest winters, forged in the fires of Ailell. And we’re gonna go out there and kick! Their! Asses!”

The entire cart erupted into applause and cheering, the tension cut down like the enemies they were soon to face. Even Chris cheered, and he heard Cassie’s voice chanting, “Faerghus! Faerghus!”

Chris looked at Miklan, grinning with pride over his class. Maybe he had been hard on them, but he was right--they’d survived, and all the stronger for it. Miklan wanted to win--wanted all of them to win--and Chris suddenly wanted it too.

_ Just you wait, Holst, _ he thought. _ I won’t hold anything back. _

* * *

The battle for Gronder Field was pure havoc. All around Chris, students fought and fell screaming, spells glowing across the battlefield, steel gleaming, arrows singing as they flew.

Chris himself felt exhausted, sweat pouring down his temples, throat sore from chanting spells. Normally when he cast, he felt no pain from his own fire, but his exhaustion was getting the better of him now. His fingertips stung, black from soot, and his shoulders ached every time he raised them to cast.

Still the thrill of battle, the desire to win, kept a grin on his face as he urged his horse to run through enemy defenses, his classmates at his sides. He saw Cassie in the distance, swinging a glowing sword that caused lightning to strike her enemies. He saw Miklan, cutting down foe after foe, one of their younger classmates chasing him down to heal him over and over.

But as the battle raged on, the bray of horses retreating from the field, the screeches of wyverns making hasty crash-landings, Chris realized his class had dwindled to only a few, then two, then him.

He and his horse picked through the empty battlegrounds, catching their breath together. The telltale fanfare of the end of battle had not yet played, and Chris knew somewhere out there someone else was still fighting--or searching for him.

He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. Whoever remained, he would face them head on, no hesitation.

Until he heard his voice.

Chris saw him through the trees, standing in a clearing, as breathless and exhausted as Chris, and smiling just as wide--Holst.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he greeted, as if they’d run into each other at a stall in the market. He hefted a bloody axe over his shoulder, watching Chris warily through the trees.

Chris studied him, his panting breath and shaky stance. If they were the only two left, Chris could only imagine what battle he’d already seen.

Chris swung his leg over his horse’s back and dismounted, patting her nose and saying, “Rest.”

Then he turned to Holst and drew his rapier.

In the clearing, Chris felt exposed, the sun bright overhead, nothing but forest behind and Holst before. He and Holst circled each other, weapons raised and ready for battle.

“Just you and me left, huh?” Holst asked.

Chris smiled to himself. “Are you nervous?”

Holst stopped, lowering his axe to his side. Chris could see the glint of his Crest in his eyes, and it sent a thrill down his spine. Chris took his stance, shoulders back. His fingers stung and his throat ached, but he smiled and said, “Don’t hold back this time.”

Holst’s grin was feral. “I won’t.”

Chris had no chance to dodge before Holst crossed the clearing towards him and swung the flat of his blade into his stomach. It knocked the breath out of him. Holst’s eyes flashed bright, and before Chris could react, Holst had whipped around to smack his jaw with the handle.

Chris stumbled, hit the ground, rolled out of Holst’s reach. Shit, he’d gotten faster since last they fought. That had been Chris’s major advantage the first time--but he still had one over Holst: he wasn’t reckless.

Holst smirked as he stalked towards Chris, twirling his axe in hand. “If you’re gonna hold back--”

“I’d never,” Chris assured, then lifted his hand and shouted a spell.

Fire burst from the ground around Holst, trapping him within, and Chris took the opportunity to scramble to his feet. He swung his blade through the flames, cutting them aside like fabric and slicing across Holst’s chest.

“Ow!” Holst shouted, hand shooting up to the wound.

Chris grinned. Holst _ had _ gotten better--but so had he.

The battle raged on, Holst’s wild, powerful swings barely deflected by Chris’s whiplike blade. Despite his best efforts, Holst couldn’t avoid every one of Chris’s cuts and stings. The back and forth was so insistent, so evenly matched. It wasn’t long before they were both bruised and bloody and exhausted, but even then, Chris couldn’t hold back his laugh. The moment he heard it, Holst laughed too.

Laughing and fighting and bleeding, but it felt good. The need to win was all gone, replaced by a longing to be close to Holst.

And then he was.

Holst, a blur, spun with a well-placed kick to the back of Chris’s knee, and he buckled just like that. He hit the ground hard, just barely missing biting into his tongue. He rolled onto his back, hand raised to fire off a burst of flame--but before he could, the pressure of a blade against his throat stopped him short.

Chris stared up at Holst, breathless, hand outstretched, but with Holst standing over him, he had nowhere to go. He held his breath. The air was still.

For three brief seconds, Chris met Holst’s glittering gaze. The grin in his eyes. The knowledge that if Chris fired off a spell, they’d eagerly continue.

But in a real battle, Chris knew a spell would do him no good. Holst had pinned him. He’d won.

Chris smiled and dropped his hand.

A loud fanfare echoed across the field, the rumble of drums, the bellow of horns. Holst stared at Chris with wide eyes for a moment before a disbelieving laugh left his chest. He laughed as loud as the fanfare, and Chris tossed his head back in the dirt and laughed too.

Suddenly, Holst threw the axe aside, grabbing Chris’s stinging hands and yanking him to shaky feet. He fell against Holst’s chest, the both of them laughing as if they’d won together--and to Chris, it felt like they had.

When Holst grabbed Chris’s hips and lifted him off his feet, spinning him in circles, Chris felt like he’d won. When he looked down at Holst’s face, his bright eyes, brighter grin, his face bruised and bloody but flushed with enthusiasm, he felt like he’d won.

He felt overwhelmed with _ something _, some feeling that bubbled, that sang, so loud he wondered if Holst could hear it. He cupped Holst’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. “You won,” he breathed.

“_ We _ won,” Holst panted.

And of course that was what it took. Months of feeling it, longing for it, waiting. Of course it took this for Chris to realize that he absolutely had a crush on Holst Goneril.

* * *

“You sure you can walk?”

Chris laughed, waving off Holst’s concern as he walked into the tavern ahead of them. Despite the journey back and Manuela’s focused efforts, they were still both achy from battle, but Chris would let nothing deter him from spending the night out with Holst. “You popped my knee,” he insisted, glancing at him over his shoulder. “You didn’t break it.”

He giggled when Holst groaned and followed him. “I’m _ so _ sorry,” he whined. “I don’t know what came over me--I was possessed!”

“By the spirit of competition, I’m sure,” Chris hummed.

Holst hadn’t stopped apologizing since he realized Chris was limping and half-carried him off the battlefield. The only reason they were even at this tavern, ordering a meal and taking a seat, was because Holst had insisted on “making it up” to Chris. Well, Chris couldn’t refuse an enthusiastic invitation.

He struggled not to think of it as a date.

It wasn’t as if they’d never spent time alone, but this time Holst had insisted on treating him. It was thrilling. Chris only wished he could have told Cassie about it…

He’d helped her get ready for dates before, though she rarely took his advice. _ You don’t know what girls like! _ she’d laugh, and Chris had to admit he didn’t. Did she have any idea what boys liked?

He’d just put on a nice, clean uniform, and _ maybe _ sprayed a perfume Myra had gifted him, and _ perhaps _ spent the last hour fretting over how unruly his messy curls were, covering the pale, endearing freckles across the bridge of his nose. When he pulled them back, he felt foolish--even too young. Holst wasn’t horribly older than him, but he was certainly much more experienced with things like this.

He couldn’t help stuttering as he searched for something to talk about, picking at his food. The tavern was bustling, loud, but thankfully Holst seemed content to talk all on his own. “The rest of the Deer were thinking about having a big victory party,” he explained, digging into his food the moment it got to him. “You should come! It’s just for us, but… You’re practically an honorary Deer, so why not? Next week!”

Chris hummed, picking up his bread roll and tossing it between his hands. “I won’t be here next week.”

Holst froze as if Chris had told him he was dying. “Wait… you’re leaving?” he gasped, mouth half-full of food.

Despite himself, Chris found his messiness terribly endearing. “Not forever,” he assured, shyly tearing his bread roll in pieces. He set each piece around the edge of the plate. “Only for a week or so, for Founding Day.”

He set the last piece down and started to bounce his leg. He’d certainly touched his food, but he’d eaten little of it, too nervous. “It’s a very important holiday, um, at home we sometimes call it ‘the first day of Faerghus,’ and there’s lots of food, and we exchange gifts, and--”

Chris realized he was rambling and ducked his head. But Holst reached out and tapped his knuckles so he’d glance up at his gentle smile. “Tell me about it.”

Chris bit his lip shyly and leaned closer. “Every Founding Day, we decorate the castle with beautiful ribbons and my father takes me--us--down to the village to see this incredible festival.” Chris clasped his hands, starry-eyed just remembering it. “There’s dancing and singing and so much food and drink! Oh, and the snow falls hardest that time of year, lovely and pure, and the lake by the castle freezes over so we can skate--”

Chris kept going, regaling Holst with every little detail he could think of. And all the while, Holst leaned his chin in his hand and watched him ramble on with that gentleness to his gaze. Talking to Holst like this was so easy. Chris didn’t know when to stop--or if he had to.

He only managed to choke it down when he said, “And Cassie always--”

He froze. Saying her name… it made his stomach twist uncomfortably. “Um… Cassie… I usually invite her…”

Holst frowned, crossing his arms on the table. “Why don’t you ask her?”

Chris looked away, shaking his head. “She’s um… She already left to celebrate with her family.”

Holst hummed in understanding, but it only made Chris feel worse. It wasn’t as if they’d _ never _ spent a holiday apart, and he couldn’t blame her for wanting to be with her family, but…

“Hey,” Holst said, reaching across the table to rub Chris’s arm reassuringly. “It’s okay. You can go have the time of your life and when you’re both back, tell her all about it. I know she’ll love that.”

Chris nodded. Maybe she would… Maybe it would be okay, and being apart like this was what they really needed.

“Besides!” Holst exclaimed, his excited voice making Chris crack a smile. “How could you not have fun? This sounds like the coolest holiday ever, _ and _ you get to celebrate with the kids?”

Chris looked up at Holst. His sparkling eyes, easy smile. He just… couldn’t help it. Maybe he was oblivious, but he wasn’t stupid. He wanted to be near him. He wanted to see him in the snow, the evergreen forests. He wanted to show him his home, his family, wanted to share the parts of himself he held so dear to his heart.

Holst was dear to him too.

With no hesitation--no proper thought--Chris asked, “Will you come with me?”

The moment he said it, he and Holst both went wide-eyed and red. Oh. Oh stars, what if Holst refused? He didn’t _ need _ to say yes, Chris supposed, but how it would hurt if he didn’t.

How improper of Chris to ask anyway! Inviting Holst to his home? Sure they were friends, but Holst was a stranger to his family and… and suddenly, Chris was embarrassed. He imagined his home couldn’t possibly be _ enough _ for Holst. Whenever Holst described it, Goneril seemed so vibrant and beautiful--extravagant, in Chris’s imagination. Worthy of nobility of his lineage--

“Chris,” Holst breathed, “You want me to come with you?”

Chris’s lower lip wobbled and he blinked very fast. “I-- I-it’s okay if--”

Holst suddenly grabbed Chris’s hands from across the table, clasping them tight between his own. “Chris, I’d _ love _ to! Am I allowed to?” Holst bounced in his seat. “When are we leaving--oh!” He jumped out of his chair, eyes wide. Everyone in the tavern turned to look at him making a scene, but Chris could only bite back a giggle. “I have to pack!”

Holst was like a child, his enthusiasm contagious. Chris laughed, “Just make sure to pack for cold weather!”

But… somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he felt something akin to dread. Inviting Holst to celebrate with his family, Holst accepting, was all very well and good, but…

Now Chris had to tell his dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my laptop crashed in the middle of me posting this, and all of my last minute edits got deleted, sooooooooooo if you see an error. No you didn't LOL
> 
> Anyway, this did turn out more montage-y than I would have liked but that's because the REAL plot begins next chapter! So buckle UP! The roller coaster is finally TAKING OFF! That being said, next chapter is definitely going to take a little longer to come out, I've been having some trouble with it. I hope you guys enjoy this one tho! Love you <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME TO RAREST PAIR HELL. I've been sitting on this for a while, but I decided fuck it, I want everyone to know my Chrolst agenda XD I just think these two could have a lot of chemistry so ; u ; there will be a lot of fucking with canon timeline here and LOTS of headcanons only loosely based on canon, so bear with me please XD
> 
> Please, if you like, leave kudos and comments, they always make my day! You can find me on twitter @novelistangel23 if you have any questions or just wanna talk fe3h with me! I hope you enjoy!


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